


To Gaze at the Stars

by Lucy_Claire



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Family Loss, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hartenstraat AU, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Abusive Relationship, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Single Parent Joe, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 133,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29053191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy_Claire/pseuds/Lucy_Claire
Summary: Hartenstraat AUAfter a life-threatening accident derails his life, Nicky pursues his original dream of being an illustrator. But that, alongside adjusting to civilian life, almost proves too difficult until Nile suggests he design the logo forThe Aubergenie, a bakery co-owned by Sébastien and Joe.In between a bad first impression and a second chance, Nicky unwittingly saves Joe’s daughter. Suddenly, he finds himself a part of their lives, falling in love with them both as he works on the logo and a story inspired by them—and counting down til this fantasy falls apart.Despite their connection being too good to be true, various struggles, worries and expectations culminate in a heart-breaking misunderstanding that threatens to divide them before they can truly be together.Will they be able to salvage what they had, or had they burned too bright to last?
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko - Relationship
Comments: 310
Kudos: 252
Collections: The Old Guard Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic was made by the amazing [**luminarai**](https://luminarai.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> [**CLICK HERE**](https://lucyclairedelune.tumblr.com/post/641846010828750848/heres-the-faces-i-had-in-mind-for-characters)! to see the character faceclaims and [**HERE**](https://lucyclairedelune.tumblr.com/post/642309329254563840/tog-bigbang-playlist-to-gaze-at-the-stars-love) for the playlist I used while writing!
> 
> **NOTES:**
> 
> To fit everything into a Modern AU I
> 
> — Set the story in America, didn’t specify where because picking a location & researching was a headache. 
> 
> — Modernized Joe’s name to _Youssef Kaisani_ to match how North Africans, on average, spell it and structure their surnames.  
> I also changed Booker’s to _Lelièvre_ because ‘Le Livre’ doesn’t make much sense as a surname.
> 
> — Made Nicky, Lykon and Andy all veterans like Nile, to match them having been knights/warriors in canon. 
> 
> — Occasionally vent via Joe’s dialogue. A lot of the stories, complaints and experiences Joe expresses are my own, or that of those I’ve known, as MENA people. 
> 
> — Most of the mental health issues and personal stories discussed are also based on my own or those within my family. 
> 
> This is my first-ever BigBang! Go easy on me!

> _No one sees what is before his feet: we all gaze at the stars._
> 
> Cicero, _De Divinatione_
> 
> * * *

Swiping his hand across the bathroom mirror, he saw his miserable eyes in the clear patch of the fogged up glass.

When he was younger, Nicky would dream vivid, fantastical ideas that he’d struggle to hold onto as he awoke, aching to write them down and later recreate them, but he always forgot most of them. Now, the only dreams he remembered where the ones that had him jerking upright, heart pounding, shirt sticking to his sweaty body.

And nothing he could do would stop those images from flashing behind his eyelids with each blink. And he could never forget them, because unlike the good dreams, his nightmares always had basis in reality.

Knocking jerked him out of his staring contest with the mirror, reminding him that he had been standing before the sink, wet hair plastered to his head, dripping all over the floor.

“Nico, are you okay?” Caterina called. “I heard the shower turn off but you’ve been in there a while.”

Exhaling heavily, Nicky reached for a towel. “Be right out.”

After drying and dressing, he met her in the kitchen, where she was puttering around, half-dressed, and talking to someone via her Bluetooth earphone, gesturing enthusiastically.

When she noticed his presence, she ceased whispering and said, “I’ll see you then.”

Nicky reached for the nearest box of cereal and filled a bowl before leaning against the counter to eat. “Where are you going this early?”

“Early? It’s almost noon,” Caterina said, picking up her half-empty cup of espresso. “Also, that was Dad, he and Teresa want to make sure we’re coming to Frankie’s birthday next Tuesday.”

Nicky stopped chewing. “Do I have to?”

Caterina gave him a judgmental look, her eyes so much like his own, protruding, heavy-lidded and green, but hers had a lively spark to them, as she should at the tender age of twenty-two. “He’s our brother.”

“Half-brother. I was barely even around for most of his life.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Our father’s, for getting remarried this late in life?”

She didn’t seem impressed. “Or the fact that you decided to stay outside the country for so long.”

“You’re acting like I was backpacking across Asia,” Nicky grumbled, resuming eating his food. It was practically tasteless, then again he’d lost his taste for most things.

Caterina shut her eyes, a subtle cringe with half her face hidden by her mug. “Speaking of which, you need to go to the VA.”

Nicky froze up, and the dull ache in his arm became a pounding pain. “No.”

She scowled at him. “You’ve been putting this off for too long, but you need to talk to someone.”

“I talk to people.”

“Making unenthused small-talk with your classmates and my friends isn’t going to help you.”

“There is no helping me.”

She stared at him for a good minute, then struck before he could move, whacking him upside the head. “You’re going!”

“I said no.”

“Dammit, Nico, I can _hear_ you.” She said desperately, upset. “Almost every day. You need to talk to someone who understands what it’s like, because I can’t even begin to understand.”

Nicky worked his jaw, reluctant. “I went before.”

“Yeah, to work out them paying for your education. You need to go to therapy, make friends, something!” Caterina set her mug down to hold his face, palms warm on his clammy face. “You can’t continue like this.”

“Why not? It’s like I have anything else to do, I haven’t drawn anything in months and I’m seriously considering dropping out.”

“It’s only been a month, less than a month!”

Nicky sighed, relaxing his face, and dropped his head towards hers to press their foreheads together. “I don’t know, Cat.”

“If you don’t know then let me decide for you. You’re going to the VA.”

“Fine.”

Beaming at him, she retreated to finish getting ready and he reluctantly went to get dressed before following her out of their building, hoodie pulled up, hands in his pockets. It was the start of October, dead leaves were everywhere, the weather still went back and forth between being warm enough for a thin T-shirt but cold enough to warrant having a jacket on hand.

Frankly, he had no idea where they were going, he just thoughtlessly followed Caterina through the street, onto a bus, then off it and towards the Veteran Affairs building. The whole time he was, not exactly lost in thought, but meandering aimlessly, not going any particular way.

He’s been like this for five months now, and there was no sign of his mind resettling. If he wasn’t thinking about how empty and useless he felt, he was thinking about what landed him in this situation, and the persistent pain in his left arm.

Once inside the building, he looked around at the white walls, at the low, distant sound of talking, and closed doors in the nearby hallway. It was such a sterile environment that just radiated confusion and pain, and it reminded him too much of the hospital.

Caterina set a hand on his back and urged him further in. “Well? Go talk to someone.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know, ask how to link up with a therapist, or if there are like group meetings to socialize.” Caterina wagged her eyebrows at him. “Hey, maybe you could meet someone. You really should after all these years of celibacy.”

Nicky suppressed a snort. He hadn’t been celibate, and he had had someone. Or, in retrospect, he didn’t have Keane. Keane had had him, in every sense of the phrase.

Pain flared again in spots whose flesh had long-since healed, forcing him to clutch his arm and press his thumb down on every aching spot, massaging, misdirecting.

“I won’t meet anyone here.”

“What?” Caterina rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You’re the only gay man who’s been discharged in the last ten years?”

The topic refocused a tortuous selection of memories, inconvenient, awkward hookups, stolen moments that went unacknowledged, and every move that should have been a red flag, and the shameful things he withstood just to be touched.

They only amplified his shame and his urge to sob.

They were also primarily of Keane. And he didn’t want to risk anyone else like him.

“I don’t _want_ to meet anyone here.”

“Okay, fine. No boys, just friends, like you’re me in high school.”

…He didn’t want to do that either. Be made to talk about his feelings and pressed for details because he’d had enough of that from their family. All that did was make him feel miserable and question why he even joined to begin with.

No, wait. He knew why he joined, to get away from home and supposedly take the government up on its promise to ‘take care of him’ and pay for the art degree he no-longer felt any passion for. Which made him feel even worse.

“Want me to do the talking?” she suggested.

He shot her an annoyed look. “I’m not a child. I’m older than you, remember?”

“Then stop dragging your feet like you’re following Nonna around the supermarket,” she snapped, shoving him down the hall. “Go! Talk! Ask! Do literally anything but lay about your room and wait for inspiration to hit you.”

“I think I’ve been hit by everything but inspiration at this point,” left his mouth before he could register it.

Caterina stopped and sought out his gaze, slim mouth tugged downwards, eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath, holding it, then exhaling slowly, trying to push aside any associated memories and remain in the present.

A door opened and a woman wearing a red scarf stuck her head out. “Hello?”

She was young, or at least appeared around Caterina’s age, with baby fat still rounding her cheeks, full lips and long eyelashes framing her shining brown eyes, her deep-brown skin smooth and even, not a hint of discoloration or wrinkles like the ones under his eyes.

“Hi!” Caterina greeted her. “Are you having a meeting or something?”

“We just finished up actually, but you can come in, introduce yourself.”

Caterina tried to maneuver Nicky. “It’s for him. It took a lot to finally get him down here, please don’t give him an excuse to scamper.”

The woman laughed, opening the door to let two people head out then ushering them in. “In you go…?”

Sighing heavily as he slouched past her, he mumbled, “Nicky.”

“Thank you so much, I’m Caterina.”

“Nile, pleased to meet you.”

“I’ll leave you to it then, I’ve got to get to run a few errands.”

“See you!” Nile waved her off before turning to Nicky, bringing her hands together with a clap, rubbing them as she approached. “So, there’s no use in asking how you’re doing, because it’s clearly shit.”

Nicky took a seat in the circle of chairs, offering her a humorless smile. “Is that how you help each other here, by being honest?”

Nile turned a chair and straddled it, arms folded over its back. “It’s a start. What we don’t want to burden our families with, or can’t connect with civilians on, we do here with someone who can get it.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

She nodded. “So, what’s your story?”

Nicky tensed, as the first thing that always came to mind was the burst and the searing, slicing pain. “Joined straight out of high school to get away from my family then go to school without any loans, graduate, get a job and move on with my life. But that’s proven to be a lot harder than I thought it’d be.”

She nodded understandingly. “That’s a very evasive answer, but I won’t push. I also joined at eighteen but I didn’t have any other plans beyond that.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Why else would you join? What part were you in?”

“Marine. It’s a family thing. My grandpa Ernie was a veteran of Vietnam, and my dad fought in the Iraq War and I idolized him. Then he was killed in action.”

Before he could get out an “I’m sorry for your loss,” Nile shushed him, like the utterance of that phrase caused her physical pain.

“And I wanted to make a difference, catch the bad guys, make sure more people both here and there were safe.” She continued, suddenly appearing weighed-down. “It sounds stupid, I know, but I did want to help in any way I could.”

“…That’s admirable.”

She gave him a fed-up stare. “I’ve been mocked enough by my brother’s friends, so can you not?”

Nicky was somewhat horrified that his sullen state had given her that impression. “I’m not mocking you, I’m serious. I know not a lot of people buy into the hero aspect, I saw some people keep themselves going by reminding themselves of that,” he explained, raising his hands. “Believe me, I’ve gotten chewed out by some of my old friends, and even some relatives.”

“Ooof, sucks when it’s family. You can’t just roll your eyes at them and move on.”

“Tell me about it, my cousin Enzo and his girlfriend basically cosplay as hippies and they got on my case every time I came home. If only any of their complaints were valid, then I would have agreed with them.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re the type who can’t tell the difference between Iraq and Iran, and think Afghans are Arabs, but will lecture you on politics and justice.” he said, unable to resist flinching. “They acted like I had any say in what was going on, like I wasn’t lured in as canon fodder when I wasn’t considered mature enough to buy beer.”

“My mom says that’s what my dad said. It’s one of the reasons why she didn’t want me joining.”

He nodded, moving to press his thumb on the inside of his elbow again, lessening the persistent pain. “Did you leave because you didn’t want to burden her, because you didn’t know what to do with yourself or because you needed the benefits?”

“All of the above? I went through all the phases of ‘Why am I here?’ for ages.”

He processed her information then scrutinized her face. “I’m sorry, when did you even get in or out? You don’t look old enough to drink.”

Nile laughed, a genuine, scratchy sound, the corners of her eyes narrowing as her grin took up half her face. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m serious, you look so young.”

She patted her cheeks in a playful beat. “Don’t let the baby fat fool you, I’m almost twenty-eight. I’ve been back over three years.”

The lighthearted mood stalled as he tried to guess what had sent her home. She must have noticed, Caterina had told him that he was too expressive for his own good.

Maintaining eye contact with him, Nile removed her scarf and Nicky was suddenly very aware of his neck, like an invisible hand was pressing against his Adam’s apple.

A thick scar stretched across her throat, not a deep cut, but a killer strike none the less.

“My unit and I were tracking down a bomb-maker in a village, he was hiding in a women’s quarters. One of the elders gave me a hint that he was in the back and we went in, needing to take him alive, but I had to stop him from killing us all so I shot him.” Nile swallowed, dragging his attention back to her throat as she ran her hand over the flesh, bunching it up between her fingertips. “I came closer to bind him and take him to the medic, because we needed him to fess up on where the other bombs and his co-conspirators were, and he—” she jerked out her hand, making a sharp slicing motion in the air before her. “He had a dagger, and I thought I was a goner.”

“I’m so sorry, that must have been terrifying.”

She made an exhausted face, briefly disconnecting from their moment to stare blankly at the floor between their feet before snapping out of it, breathing, “Yeah. All I could think about as I bled out over my friend’s hands was that I had made a mistake, not just going in there and shooting him, but joining, and my mom had now two people come home to her in bodybags.”

Nile suddenly shook her head hard enough to jiggle her cheeks, smiling brightly again. “But I didn’t. I lost a lot of blood but I didn’t sustain too much damage. It took almost a year of me not really talking much, but I healed. I found a new job, and this place, and life’s pretty good.”

“What do you do now?”

She jerked her thumb behind her. “I work at the Andromachine.”

He frowned thoughtfully as he ran that name through his mind. “The car place…?”

“Mhm, turns out I’m an engine-whisperer.”

He laughed briefly, more of a cough than an expression of humor. “I think I saw a sign for it a couple of times since I came back. My first thought was that I’d been gone so long that we now had androids.”

Nile laughed again, that little crackling sound she made reminded him of a bird call, and it was frankly adorable. It tickled him somehow, making him involuntarily smile.

“Imagine, you get knocked out and sleep in some cave in the desert and Rip Van Winkle yourself into _I, Robot_ or _Chobits_.”

_“Chobits?”_

She ducked her head, looking a little embarrassed. “It’s an anime about people having personal androids that kind of function like human-shaped Alexas and Siris.”

“That is terrifying, and full of unfortunate implications I’m not in the right headspace to consider.”

“It’s enjoyable if you don’t think too hard about it,” she said. “Also, I think you’re the first person here to not make fun of me for watching anime.”

“The only anime I’ve ever seen are the ones my sister watched, and I usually just caught glimpses on passing or she talked me ear off about _Fullmetal Jacket_ —wait, that’s not right.”

“ _Fullmetal Alchemist._ Which is pretty amazing if you’re looking to dip your toe into anime, just saying.”

“Is it on any streaming services? I’m using my sister’s Netflix for now.”

“I think it’s on there? I have a Funimation subscription so I just watch all that’s on there, but if you find two versions don’t be confused, there was a version made before the manga was finished and another that was more true to the source material.”

“Which do I watch?”

“…Both? I enjoyed both. I’ve actually been meaning to have a rewatch but I used to watch it with my friends on sleepovers, so I feel kinda weird streaming it on my bed in the dark.” She turned her head, giving him a pointed side-glance. “Unless you want to join me?”

Nicky’s first thought was to weasel out and say “No, thanks,” and never actually follow through on watching anything recommended. But a voice at the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Caterina shouted at him to start moving on with his life, and that this was the ideal way to make a new friend. And he liked Nile, talking to her was easy.

Maybe watching something animated would reignite his love of drawing?

“That sounds amazing, thank you.”

She did a little dance in her seat. “I was certain you were going to say no, almost everyone else here has.”

“How come?”

“Eh, something about wanting to keep this part of their lives separate from their personal lives. But you don’t want to do that, do you?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing my life, let alone drawing lines in the sand over who I’m including in it,” he admitted. “I’m even debating dropping out of my course and giving up on finding jobs in my field, and just doing what my father asked.”

“You’ll feel like you’re stuck in limbo for a while, it’s normal. The adjustment period is different for everyone, but if you keep coming here and talking to others, I promise it will help.”

“Well, then I’m putting myself in your hands. You can be like my sponsor, or however it works around here.”

Nile stood, extending her hand. “Deal.”

They shook on it and made their way out, with her wrapping her scarf back around her neck. When she noticed him watching she hand-waved her explanation, “People stare, and I’m tired of it. I usually wear chokers, but now is scarf season.”

He tugged at his left sleeve. “I feel you.”

Her eyes followed the movement and he stopped fidgeting. He opened his mouth, still debating how he was going to explain, but she cut him off. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”

“Thanks. Really, thank you. My family has done everything but grab me by my ankles and shake the story out of me. Mostly out of intrigue than concern.”

She giggled, pushing the door open and gesturing for him to follow her. “My mom was like that, and I get where she’s coming from, especially after losing my dad, but I was just not in the mood.”

“And you could barely talk.”

She spun around, giving him finger-guns. “Exactly! Oh, speaking of my mom, I’m going to the Aubergenie, do you want to come?”

“What does your mom have to do with an aubergine?” He paused, letting the sentence sink in. The French word for eggplant was _aubergine_ , which the British used as well, but no one here did. Was he having his thoughts jumbled again by lack of sleep?

Luckily, this just amused her. “The Aubergenie is a bakery. Sort of. My mom works there as a pastry chef.”

“Sort of? Is it or is it not a bakery?”

She wiggled her hands side to side, an imprecise gesture. “It has some stuff that doesn’t really count as pastries, I think? It’s co-owned by two guys from different backgrounds and they merged their cultures’ foods. One does most of the food stuff and the other is in charge of the business,” Her smile brightened at the mention of the restaurant, or the business guy. “Everything they make is delicious.”

“I can’t believe I never heard of it.”

“All the more reason for you to join me.”

He held out his arm. “Lead the way.”

Nile hooked her arm with his and proceeded to drag him down the street. After the first block or so, they easily fell back into conversation and he barely noticed his surroundings or how long they’d walked. It was the first time this happened since he’d returned, not out of him disconnecting, but being engrossed in something else.

Wow, he really did need to talk to someone like him. He was buying Caterina that fancy chocolate she loves for Christmas.

They entered an emptier, smoother area, slightly ritzy judging by the collection of shops he could glimpse.

“I work around the corner so I come here almost every day for lunch,” she explained as they crossed the street to their target.

From a distance, he couldn’t really pick of them out. There was no overhead sign, just the name The Aubergenie in a generic, italic, cursive font on a glass door.

But when Nile ushered him inside, the smells hit him.

Nicky was not a sweets person, he’d given up on candy after one Halloween binge that left him sick and when a birthday cake’s coating was so sugary it shut down his appetite. It extended to the point that, at his most sensitive, the smell of honey turned his stomach.

But, God, the smell of this place was fantastic. Warm, balanced, more about the scents wafting from the ovens than any icing, fondant or whatever many shops and brands claimed was chocolate.

The inside was larger than he expected, more like a coffeeshop, with an autumnal color scheme, eggplant purple-cushioned seats with wooden backs and legs, matching honey-brown tables, a tawny floor and cream-colored walls. Facing the door was the showcase and the counter, behind it he could spot some ovens and a space that made drinks.

He supposed most bakeries sold drinks as well these days. Smart strategy.

Browsing the showcase, he half-paid attention to Nile and the cashier chatting, a girl around Caterina’s age with curly black hair, round brown eyes and beige skin, with the name-tag Jessie.

There were a few things he expected to find, the French staples like pain au chocolat, croissants, brioches that looked closer to his Nonna’s panettone, but on the layer with the smaller bakeries like macarons and madeleines he spotted stranger, stickier selections. One was a bowl of golden dough balls dusted with powdered sugar labeled _Louqmat al-Qadi_ , which he could have sworn was the _loukoumades_ his Greek neighbors would make, and pale, crescent-shaped, short-bread—almond flour?—biscuits dubbed _Ghoraiyeba_ , and tower of rhombus-shaped baklava of all things.

He decided he wanted to try the dough balls the most.

Looking up to read the menu, he found the assortment of drinks was just like the food, half familiar, half foreign, and some that was in the middle. There the usual Italian-based coffee drinks like mocha and cappuccino, then Turkish and Arabic coffee, and _mint lemonade_.

He’d heard of strawberry lemonade, even orangeade, but not mint lemonade.

Deciding to treat himself to two things, he edged closer to Nile, reminding her of his presence. She broke off her conversation as a customer rose to occupy Jessie and asked, “Anything you like?”

“A lot, yeah. I’d like to dry the dumplings and the lemonade.”

“The _louqm?_ Oh, they’re great, especially when they’re fresh from the fryer. We can heat them up for you a little—Hi, Mom!”

Nile’s mother emerged from the door to the side, carrying a tray of golden squares, not baked, or at least not made with any flour, but he could smell the syrup and it surprisingly didn’t turn his stomach.

Despite having sharper features and prominent cheekbones, Nile’s mother looked a lot like her, which proved that her round cheeks were not the result of baby-fat. Her glasses hung on her chest by a golden chain, right above the name-tag that introduced her as Patricia, and her short hair was pulled up in a bun.

“Hi, pumpkin, how was the meeting today?”

They leaned across the counter to trade kisses on the cheek.

“Pretty good, we finally got Jenny to open up and add to the conversation.”

Patricia headed to the showcase, placing the plate of syrupy golden squares behind the tag _Basboussa_. Up close they reminded him of another Greek dessert, _revani_. “Is that the one with the club thumbs or the one that dresses like a twelve year-old boy?”

“Mom!”

“What? How else am I supposed to tell them apart from all our other regulars?” Patricia returned to them, placing her glasses on her nose, finally noticing Nicky. “Oh, didn’t see you there. Are you in line to order?”

Nicky smiled at her awkwardly. “I suppose I am, Mrs…”

He just realized that they hadn’t exchanged last names.

“Just call her Trish.” Nile put a hand on his shoulder and pointed at him. “This is Nicky, he’s new at the VA, so I thought I’d come introduce him to his new favorite place to go after meetings.”

Patricia chuckled at her daughter, her eyes crinkling at the corners the same way. “I don’t know why Sébastien bothers paying for ads when we’ve got you funneling us customers.”

At the mention of this Sébastien, Nile straightened up, glancing around. “Did he come in today?”

“He did when we opened up, but he had to leave early because Pierre had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Aww, is he sick?”

Patricia rolled her eyes. “Some genius parent from his daycare didn’t vaccinate her kid, and now a whole host of them have measles, Pierre included.”

Nile hissed sympathetically. “Must be hard taking care of this by himself.”

“I’ll bet. God bless him for stepping up and caring for those kids, because while you and Michael were well-behaved, I do not miss a day of you being so dependent on me.”

Nile laughed, her heart not really in this one. She seemed concerned for Sébastien and his…son?

“Hey, is Joe back there? I wanted to talk to him about making some kind of sampler to take to work for me, Andy has some how never had his baklava.”

“Joe went to the bank for a bit, he should be back by now.” Patricia wiped her hands down her apron and refocused on Nicky. “Have you figured out what you’d like, handsome?”

Taken aback by the compliment, he spluttered a nonsensical series of noises, making her smile broaden. “Can I try the _louqmat al-qadi_ and the mint lemonade, please?”

“Good choice for a starter. Jessie! Do we still have mint?”

Jessie zipped back from the other edge of the counter and went to the drink’s station. “Uh, yeah we do, but we need to stock up tonight.”

Nodding, Patricia pushed past the door to the kitchen. “I’ll text Joe.”

While Jessie got their orders. Nile got a small box of those crescent cookies and a milk-tea, and Nicky got his warm powdered dough-balls and lemonade.

She led them to a table by the door and got started on her biscuits. “My mom gave you the seal of approval.”

He took a sip of his green-ish lemonade, it was a surprisingly refreshing mix, he couldn’t believe he’s never heard of it before. “What do you mean?”

“A lot of the people I bring here, she gives them the side-eye, or they annoy her even without saying anything, I think she’s got a sixth sense about people,” she explained. “It was like that when I was in school as well, she could just tell if the girl I was currently friends with was bad news or not.”

“Wish I had that sense, I always ended up with the worst guys.”

Nile swallowed her mouthful slowly, considering him. “Ended up with as friends or boyfriends?”

Startled, he wondered what it was about his phrasing that made the second option obvious. It wasn’t something he discussed with anyone, sometimes not even the guys he’d hooked up with, and he’d spent all his time with Caterina since he’d returned, and there was no use in mincing his words or pretending to be anything else with her.

Deciding that her even thinking of him having boyfriends was a good thing, he expressed his displeasure with “Both.”

“That sucks,” she said, without missing a beat. “I’ve had only one boyfriend, but I’ve had some taxing friendships. I wish I’d listened to my mom when she went ‘that girl is trouble’ and ‘a rattlesnake is cuddlier than her’.”

A rattlesnake would have been a smarter option than his exes, especially Keane.

“My dad never cared enough to know my friends, or ask what I was up to really. Guess that’s what made me coming out so shocking.”

“Was he okay with it?”

Nicky rolled his shoulders in a shrug, starting on his food. “He's fine with it _now_ , but that took years. Before, there was a degree of separation between him and guys like me, a co-worker or a customer, so he didn’t have to think about it. When I told him the first time I came back, he thought I was pulling his leg, then had a bit of a meltdown.”

“A meltdown?”

“Yeah, he asked all these, I don’t know, Freudian questions? About what he did to make me this way, if it was because of my mom, if I was molested, and so on.” He remembered just how painfully awkward that conversation was, watching his father go red-faced with confusion and panic in their living room. “I thought he was going to track down my old priest and kill him.”

Once he took a bite of his dough-balls, he found that they had been lightly infused with a citrus-y syrup and enjoyed the sweetness far more than he thought he would.

Concern filled in her voice. “Were you…?”

He almost choked on his chewed-up mouthful, waving his hand in denial. “No, God, _no!_ Father Tony was a good man, even if he did break his vows. If anything, he did me favor.”

“How?”

“Helped me make up my mind about not joining the seminary.”

In the whole time they were talking, he’d been stuffing the dough-balls in his mouth, and suddenly he’d found himself stabbing his fork into the last one.

When was the last time he ate something with an appetite, and actually relished its taste?

Nile was watching him with concerned eyes. “What about your mom?”

“I don’t give a damn what she thinks,” he said with finality. “But, uh, yeah most of my family is fine, even if the older crowd don’t get it. I’ve gotten some pretty insensitive suggestions and questions, but they don’t mean to offend.”

“Like?”

“My great-uncle Carmine kept asking if I even bothered to ‘try pussy’, and his wife Rita said she was afraid I’d catch AIDs.”

“Jesus!”

He made an exhausted face. “Old people, right? And my grandmother got upset because she wanted me to be happy with a wife and family, pretty sure a part of her still thinks I’ll change my mind. But my uncle Pietro was the best I could have hoped for, he just—” he stopped, unable to smother the wheezing laugh. “He just told me to—” he stopped again, shaking his head. “He just told me I better bring home an Italian boy, or else then he’d have a problem with me.”

Nile cracked up, making him relax further. “I kid you not, my grandma told me the same thing—not the Italian part, but the general idea. Judging by the track record of my crushes, she’s going to be disappointed.”

He raised his lemonade. “To disappointing our families.”

She bumped her tea lightly against his cup. “But not too much.”

They sat there, chatting about their combined list of shitty friends and common experiences.

His phone buzzed and by the time he pulled it out of his jacket pocket, he’d found half a dozen messages with increasing urgency from Caterina. The last was just a line of question marks.

“She’s going to eat me,” he said, rising. “Going to cut me up with some potatoes, wrap us in foil, bake and then eat me.”

Nile popped the last of her biscuits in her mouth and stood, patting the powdered sugar off her hands. “Think my boss is too, I needed to be in by two-thirty.”

Picking up his lemonade and dialing Caterina’s number, he followed Nile to the door as she bid Jessie goodbye over her shoulder.

Surpassing her, he headed out just as Caterina picked up and yelled, “ _Where have you been? I went back to the VA after class you were gone!”_

“I’m sorry, I forgot to give you a head’s up, but I made a friend and we went to get a bite to eat.”

 _“A friend!”_ she squealed. _“Who? The girl we met?”_

“Yeah, Nile, she’s great—oh, shit, I forgot to ask for her number.” He turned to check where Nile went, still walking. The door was closed, she must have been still talking to Jessie or her mother. “I think I’ll go back in and—”

Someone slammed right into him, spilling his drink and knocking the cup from his hands and himself back a few steps.

His mind leaped headfirst into the memory he’d tried so hard to block, of when the explosion hit their Jeep, his arms raising to cover his head, not bracing for anything else as it flew up and crashed onto its side.

When he came back to the present, ears whistling, body tense, arm throbbing, he found that he was being yelled at.

He blinked, hazy vision focusing on the man in front of him.

Handsome, was the first thing that came to mind. Olive-skinned, he had a head of tight black curls that reached his earlobes and a dark stubble encased his ovular face. Below his high forehead was a set of slim yet defined features, straight, dark brows over down-turned eyes with puffy under-eyelids, and a short, straight nose. When he spoke, Nicky’s eyes went straight to his mouth, dark pink lips, upper nearly the same size as the lower, full but not big. Soft, like he used a lot of lip balm.

The second thing to come to mind was that he was angry. Angry at Nicky.

“What?” he breathed, trying to lower his heartbeat.

“I said watch where you’re going!” The man shouted, heated, patting at his drenched suit jacket. “My phone is in this pocket, you could have ruined it!”

“I’m sorry, I could have sworn you weren’t there a second ago.”

“What? So I just popped out of thin air? I was right in front of you.”

“I didn’t see you. And I turned for a second.”

“I’m pretty hard to miss, you just weren’t paying attention.” He took his phone out, tapping around, probably to check that it was dry and undamaged. “You missed it by an inch, and today would have been the worst for it to die on me, I’m expecting an important call and you could have ruined it with your carelessness.”

The initial shock of their collision had subsided and he was now fully in the present. “Look, I said I was sorry.”

The man scowled at him. “Yeah, sure.”

And now he was officially annoyed. “Hey, you slammed into me, why weren’t you watching where you were going? Why didn’t you move out of my way?”

Tucking his phone in his jeans pocket, the man made a dismissive gesture, and moved past him, shoulder bumping against his. “I don’t have time for this.”

He entered the shop just as Nile exited, ignoring her greeting.

“He’s in a strange mood,” she huffed. “Oh, Nicky, what happened?”

All he could do was show her his retrieved, empty cup, the spilt lemonade becoming sticky very quickly.

He’d fought with the first attractive man he’d seen in ages. Sounded like the universe wanted to remind him that meeting Nile was not a sign that it was going to start taking it easy on him.

Tossing his spilled lemonade’s container in the bin, he placed his phone back on his ear. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

_“What was that?”_

“Some guy ran into me and got mad about it. Is there anything you needed?”

_“No, just wanted to know where you were, sure you’re safe and all that.”_

“I’m on my way home.”

_“Okay!”_

Returning to Nile, he asked for her number. She dictated him and he gave her a missed call. After saving each other as contacts she moved in to give him a hug then reared back, “Ah! Sticky!”

“Yeah, guess I’ll need to come back later for another cup.”

She gave him a sad face. “After your first official meeting next week?”

“Next week,” he agreed.

“Great! I’ll see you then!” With that she took off across the crosswalk, heading to her work.

As he figured out what street he was on and made his way home from there, all he could think about was that angry man. Mostly things he could have said to win an argument, to get him to come back and finish what he started, to get him acknowledge that they were, at least, both at fault. Maybe even find a way to get him to reimburse him for the drink, or buy another one for him, and talk to him—

Well, that went somewhere else very fast. He hadn’t spoken to another man that he wasn’t related to in ages, let alone someone he thought was cute. Must be doing a real number on his bruised psyche or whatever the hell shrinks called cases like his.

Even after he’d returned to their apartment and had dinner, he was still thinking of that guy.

 _Why?_ He was probably some uptight asshole who went in and made some complicated order then chewed out the barista when she didn’t get his sixteen demands right. He was probably one of those self-important jackasses who worked in a tech company, or made an app, or whatever the hell was the big new thing these days.

Nicky was so disconnected from the mainstream he didn’t know what was the latest big-deal TV show. Was it still _Game of Thrones_? Was that medieval-looking show Caterina watched, about the beefcake with the long grey hair, _Game of Thrones_?

After retiring to his room, he kept the lights on for a bit, browsing through the job sites on his laptop, wondering if his lack of responses could be because he had no portfolio. He needed to draw stuff. But what?

His mind was completely empty when it came to this stuff. He was void of inspiration, literally drawing a blank.

“Perhaps I need a muse,” he murmured to himself bitterly.

The man from outside the Aubergenie popped back into his mind.

As upsetting as their encounter was, he did have a pretty face.

Recognizing a spark when he felt it, Nicky got out of his bed and sat his desk by the window, opening the blinds to let the light of the moon and lampposts flood in. Opening his sketch-pad, he put his pencil to the paper and tried to recreate the man’s face, starting with the shape, the uneven outline of his tall, small curls, and the start of his neck. Drawing the feature guidelines, assessing how much space his forehead took up, he got to work on the smooth brows, then the length of his nose, and paused to scour his memory for the distance between his lips, nose and chin.

Shading the hair, with sparse details for individual ringlets, and the stubble around his mouth, curved down at the edges with displeasure, he got to work on the part he’d always struggled with the most: Eyes.

They were down-turned, almost sad, irises taking up a lot of space.

He couldn’t remember what his ears looked like, or his nostrils, but he made a guess based on feature-structure.

After doing some cursory shading and smudging, he sat back, regarding his work.

It wasn’t great, compared to his collection of portraits, but those usually had the source before him, whether a picture or someone posing. But it was the first subject that managed to hold his attention, and be finished.

Nicky wasn’t pursuing realism in his dream-job as an illustrator, he’d always wanted to draw comics and even illustrate children’s books, where realism was off-putting and stylized depictions helped sell the fantasy. But the lethargic haze in his mind left him without a story, an idea, a concept even. He supposed he could seek out a writer, do what they asked.

But he didn’t know if anyone would put up with him like this, especially on the days where he just couldn’t function.

With all that said, this was a start.

Maybe he could catch that guy again, if he did visit the Aubergenie regularly, get a better look at the rest of him…

Slumping back in his seat, he put his hands over his face and laughed. God, he needed to get laid.

If only it were that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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	2. Chapter 2

The week passed with him going to his classes, getting reacquainted with newer art programs and the artist landscape these days. Judging by the small-talk he’d made with his classmates, an Instagram and Artstation account were necessary and acted as a modern portfolio. Could be why him attaching .jpgs of his work garnered little to no response.

With Caterina’s help, he set up his accounts, both NicolòGenovesiArt, made a work-email, and pondered making a website as well. Before uploading anything, he made a folder in his iPhotos and decided to have Nile help him pick what went up as his self-promo.

Attending his first VA meeting was nerve-wracking, he fidgeted the entire time as they went around in a circle, sharing small events, achievements and things that counted towards adjusting to civilian life. Nicky found that he still couldn’t share just what got him discharged, and just talked about his trouble sleeping and finding a job.

At least a third of them agreed with him.

He waited off the side as the attendees filtered out, and when Nile shut the door behind her, he pounced. “Hey, can I get your opinion on some stuff? I’d add ask my sister, but she’d just tell me that it’s all good and I need a critical eye.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“To pick out which of my illustrations go on Instagram and stuff, advertise myself in a way.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re an artist? You didn’t tell me that!”

“It didn’t come up?”

She lightly shoved him, excited. “Dude! I follow a lot of artists, they usually post fan-art, but it’s still amazing. I could give you a list to follow and get pointers from.”

Relief took hold, and he held out his right arm like last time. “Wanna talk over it over something from the Aubergenie?”

Hooking her arm with his, she led the way. “Do I?”

This time, he tried to pay attention to the way and distance it took to reach the shop, but like last time, he barely noticed it.

Once inside, it was slightly packed, but the table they sat in the last time was available. Jessie was at the cashier and a tall, broad man with dirty-blond hair was with her, chatting as he replaced the croissants in the showcase.

They were speaking to each other in French when they reached the counter, and he could have sworn Nile’s entire body language changed when she spoke to the man.

 _“Salut, Sébastien!”_ she greeted, accent shaky.

“Lilette!” he greeted, his hands up. He had an oblong face, close-set dark-blue eyes Nicky first took for brown, thin lips and a sloping nose with a bulbous tip, his straight, sandy hair short at the front and longer at the back. _“Ça va?”_

 _“Bien,”_ she responded, resting her elbows on the counter, leaning slower, batting her eyelashes. _“Comment va Pierre?”_

Sébastien let out a long-suffering sigh. “Pierre is sick, he’s bed-bound until he recovers. But he’s using this as an excuse to watch Cartoon Network all day.”

He had a slight French accent, but spoke English with the command of someone who’d been here for years.

“I’m so sorry, has he infected Louis and Robin?”

“Louis and Robin were already vaccinated, but Pierre is a baby, so I believe they’re safe, but to be sure they’re staying in Joe’s guest room for now.” Sébastien gestured to Jessie. “It’s what we were discussing, apparently Lily is happy to have them over for a prolonged sleepover.”

Nile giggled. Giggled. “That’s so precious. I hope it all turns out okay soon.”

He nodded, looking a bit worn-out. “It better, because I don’t think I can handle anything worse than this.”

Nile set her hands over his, dwarfed by his size, but exuding affection. “I’ll pray for him.”

He smiled softly at her and leaned across to kiss her cheek. _“Merci, chérie.”_

Breaking their moment, with Nile looking like she was suppressing a squeal, Sébastien looked to Nicky. “Hello, are you a new friend of Nile’s?”

Putting off debating the nature of their relationship, Nicky nodded. “Yes, hi. Pleasure to meet you, you’ve got a very tasty and interesting selection here.”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t make any of these,” he said, gesturing to the showcase. “My partner, Joe, is the head baker. I do everything else though.”

Nicky wondered if ‘partner’ was just professional, at least for Nile’s sake.

Nile set a hand on his back and brought him closer, presenting him with a hand. “This is my friend Nicky, he’s an artist,” she said, stressing on _artist_ meaningfully.

Sébastien’s brows rose with intrigue. “What kind?”

“An illustrator,” Nicky answered.

Sébastien shared a look with Nile then held out his hand. Nicky stared down at it, confused, then slowly placed his palm on Sébastien’s, who shook his hand, laughing. “I was going to ask if you have anything to show me.”

“You mean my work?”

He nodded, pointing to the door. “As you may have noticed, our shop’s lacking a sign, and we’ve been working on expanding and advertising, but can’t quite do it without a logo, or something stylized and recognizable as our brand. I’ve been trying to find someone to do it for ages—Joe keeps saying he’ll design something, but he has his hands full and always forgets, to the point that we’ve been putting it off for years.”

Excited, and a little carried away, Nicky fished out his phone and almost dropped it like it were a wet soap bar.

Steadying his hold, he opened his Photos app and showed them a folder set aside for his work. Nile rose on her tip-toes, peering at his phone while Sébastien leaned in, swiping through the images slowly.

They were mostly portraits, stylized characters, animals and landscapes, and the occasional calligraphic design. Sébastien paused on the latter the most, considering them.

“These are very bright and attractive styles, you would do great in graphic novels, or perhaps children’s books or book covers.” Sébastien swiped backwards and tapped out a few in particular, one of a girl riding a white tiger, of a mechanical dragon in a steampunk setting, and of a blue-skinned, white-haired woman wearing a multi-faceted diamond-like dress in shades of blues and purples. “Can you make us some concepts?”

His jaw dropped. “Of course! Do you have any ideas or requests? Any symbols?” He stopped and looked at the glass door, where _The Aubergenie_ was written backwards. “What’s the story behind the name, by the way?”

Sébastien jabbed his thumb at the door to the kitchen and opened up the small door in the counter. “Joe can explain to you our name and what we’d like in better detail.”

Nicky slipped in, stopping to make an anxious and excited face at Nile from behind Sébastien’s back. She raised her thumbs, grinning.

“Thank you!” he said to them, pushing the kitchen door open, heart buzzing. “I really can’t—I don’t— _thank you_. Thank you, Mister…?”

He saluted Nicky. “Lelièvre. And please just call me Sébastien.”

Did he just trip ass-backwards into his first job?

Already thinking up ideas, he entered the kitchen, finding Patricia and a short young woman with wavy blonde hair at work, carefully placing peeled almonds in the center of unbaked shortbread cookies. Deciding not to disturb her with a greeting, he moved around the equipment and the mobile shelves, following the sound of kneading to the source.

The first thing he saw was the muscles in Joe’s back. His head was down, his arms before him, rolling and kneading dough on a flour-covered table, the effort raising and moving along with his shoulder-blades against the thin material of his light-blue T-shirt. He had broad, strong shoulders that tapered down his firm back to a narrow waist and Nicky could feel himself salivating.

Coming back to himself, he found his voice and called out, “Hi? Sébastien says I could talk to you about designing a sign for the shop?”

Joe paused his effort and raised his head to check over his shoulder, and Nicky felt his flicker of hope be stomped out.

Facing him, in a flour-covered apron, was the man he’d crashed into and spilled his lemonade on. The man whose face occupied his indulgent daydreams, who he had not-quite-jokingly called the muse that unblocked his artist’s block.

Who probably hated him.

“You?” Joe said, eyes wide, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’re the one making our sign?”

Panic flared as a low whistle filled his ears, and all he could do was turn tail and run.

Rushing past Sébastien’s calls and Nile’s questions, he didn’t pause long enough to think, he just ran out of the shop and headed straight home.

Caught by desperate panic and his thoughts scattered, the only clear thing was the curses rotating among them.

Before he knew it, he was struggling to get his shaky hand to stick his key in its hole and after enough misses, Caterina opened the door in a tank top and pajama bottoms, her hair in a top-knot to avoid the green face-mask.

He managed a “Don’t you have school?” before side-stepping her to toe off his shoes.

“Professor cancelled at the last minute. Hey, what’s wrong?” She followed him into his room as he went around, undressing and placing every item back in its place, contents of his pockets on a tray on his desk, jeans in one drawer, jacket in the closet, everything in its place.

“I fucked up, Catia. I fucked up big-time,” he said hurriedly, shaking his hands.

She rushed to him, holding his hands, steadying them with a comforting squeeze. “Talk to me, tell me everything and I’ll tell you if you did indeed fuck up.”

“But I did.”

“Nico, I haven’t trusted your judgment since you told me sriracha wasn’t spicy.”

“But it isn’t. You just have the tastebuds of a toddler.”

She tried giving him a disbelieving look but the green mask limited the mobility of her features. “Just tell me.”

“I got a job offer through Nile, at the place her mom works at. I went to talk to the boss and he turned out to be the guy I crashed into last week.”

“Lemonade Muse Guy?”

Nicky resented that nickname, but it got the point across. “Yes, him.”

“What did he say to you?”

“Huh?”

“What exactly did Lemonade Guy say to you this time?”

“Not much. Just ‘You?’”

She aimed a dull stare at him. “So, he didn’t tell you he didn’t want to work with you or tell you to get out?”

“He didn’t get the chance.”

“Nico.”

“What?”

“You didn’t give him the chance to say anything.”

“Why would I stand there and get told that I messed up my chance before I even knew I had one?”

“You don’t know that you did! Like you said, you didn’t give him a chance to say anything.”

“Because I know what he was going to say,” he sighed. “By the look on his face, he wasn’t pleased to see me, why do you think he’d employ me?”

“Nicolò, stop putting words in that guy’s mouth and go talk to him about that job.”

Nicky felt like he was talking at a wall. “He won’t hire me, I walked into him and almost destroyed his phone before an important call and he chewed me out, you think he has any goodwill left in him to put his brand in my hands?”

Caterina raised her hands in surrender and left for her bathroom, peeling at the edges of her face-mask. “Since you’ve developed telepathy, why don’t you accompany me to my next test and fish the answers from the teacher’s head?”

He followed her out, internally groaning. “Can you tone down the sarcasm, I feel bad enough already.”

“You don’t need to feel bad, you need to go back and talk to him.”

“No.”

“Nico.”

Leaning against the open door of her bathroom, watching her remove the layer of dry green goop like it were the sunburned skin of the Martian Manhunter, he caught her eye in the reflection and shook his head.

“Nicolò, I swear we just had this talk about you going to the VA, and look what happened when you did? You met Nile.”

Realization struck him like lightning. He had left Nile hanging without an explanation.

He needed to apologize.

Slinking back to his room, he replied to the text from Nile that was a line of question marks with _I’m so sorry_.

When his phone started vibrating, he almost fumbled it out out of his hand.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to run out on you like that,” were the first rushed words out of his mouth.

_“Hey, no, it’s fine. I just want to know what happened, and if you’re okay.”_

She sounded like she meant it, which made him feel even worse.

“I’m…better now, I guess. I just panicked.”

_“Cold feet? Or did you forget how to negotiate or something?”_

“More like I realized your mom’s boss was the guy I had a bad encounter with last week and that he would not want to hire me.”

_“You’re kidding, right? Joe isn’t mean, I swear. Mom says he was just having a stressful day, when you crashed into each other.”_

He paused, considering her words. “I don’t know, he didn’t seem pleased to see me.”

_“What did he say exactly?”_

Nicky held off on responding, calming down to the point that when he retraced the encounter he realized how much he’d overreacted.

_“Well?”_

“He just said ‘You?’ in this confused tone. And I ran out.”

_“…Nicky.”_

He covered his eyes with his hand, moving it up his warm, sweaty brow. He could feel the vein in his temple pounding out the start of a headache. “It sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

 _“It kinda does, sorry.”_ He heard her sigh, then a shifting noise, like she had had the phone between her ear and shoulder, and the unmistakeable jingle of keys, followed by the metallic clanking noise of the garage she worked at. _“Look, just take a few deep breaths, try to compose yourself, then come back and talk to Joe.”_

“Can’t I discuss this with Sébastien?”

Nile laughed softly, slightly muffled by the noise of work around her. _“Sébastien is a little busy managing everything and wrangling Huey, Dewey and Louie, plus the artistic one between them is Joe, he’ll be easier to work with. He’ll give you better answers than ‘Uhhh…whatever works?’.”_

Nicky echoed her chuckle, calming down a little. “I don’t know, artists are notoriously difficult customers because they get very controlling and particular.”

 _“Won’t know til you give it a shot.”_ He heard more rummaging in the background. _“Hey, I gotta get to work now or Andy will have my ass. I’ll text you later.”_

“Okay. Have a good day.”

She made a kissing noise. _“You too.”_

After hanging up, he decided he wasn’t convinced this was worth the risk of being chewed out and making things tense between himself and Nile, or even Nile’s mother. He needed to continue applying for jobs online. The distance between himself and clients would be better.

And that was what he did.

* * *

Throughout the next week, he feigned a cold to get out of the next VA meeting and returning to the Aubergenie, and submitted job applications and obsessively refreshed his email and art pages for job requests and followers.

Not much had changed. He was reconsidering Nile’s suggestion to draw fan art, but of what? He couldn’t remember what he used to enjoy that much, and he doubted the current user base of Instagram would care for digital paintings of Angel from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and his eponymous spin-off, who Nicky may or may not have had a massive crush on as a kid. It had to be something current.

David Boreanaz should have been Batman. Maybe he could draw Batman, that was still current, right? Or had Marvel monopolized superhero relevancy? God, he was so out of touch.

It was safe to say he got rejections, no responses and no ideas on what to do. Caterina told him to draw video game characters suggested by her friends.

He was considering dropping out of college again.

After all-nighter packed with false starts and scrapped ideas to pander to Twitter’s fluctuating interests to gain ‘clout’, Nicky decided he needed to get out of his room and his own head. It may have also been motivated by the unhinged nastiness of the people on Twitter, so Instagram seemed more manageable.

It was the wee hours of the morning, the city mostly quiet, and Caterina was sound asleep, lulled by the low murmuring of whatever audiobook she had dozed off to tonight.

Tiptoeing past her room, Nicky put his shoes on outside the apartment and headed down and out to wander in the night.

It was cool, likely to be feel chilly if he hadn’t worn a sweater underneath his jacket. He made sure to avoid alleyways and the middles of the streets, practically zigzagging as he let his feet lead.

Out of nowhere, his arm began to ache again. Or he had just noticed the throbbing pain when he allowed himself to stop thinking about work, or the lack of work. The scars and what laid beneath them might take years to properly recover, but he doubted the memory of what caused it would leave his head anytime soon.

Exhaling, a thin cloud of vapor escaped his lips. It was getting that cold already? Was it later in the year than he was aware or had he just gotten that used to the other weather?

Desert nights were surprisingly cold though. But they had the clearest skies with the brightest stars, that was one thing he missed.

Aiming his face up, he was met with the lightly-polluted sky, a scattering of stars visible, but not the same amount as the ones he’d spent ages looking up at. Some nights he could even see parts of the Milky Way.

He wondered if that was Venus or a satellite—

Before he could finish that thought, he collided with something hard and almost fell back with a yelp.

A hand caught him by the forearm, thumb pressing on the inside of his elbow, right on the spot that helped dull the ache in his arm.

Shock subsiding, he steadied himself and stuttered, “Sorry.”

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” said a familiar voice from within the shadow of the hoodie.

Joe.

Pulling back his hood, but not his hand, Joe bared his tired face and his flattened curls, some frizzy with many flyaway hairs, like they had been split and crushed by a pillow. Product of hours of tossing and turning, no doubt.

Nicky opened his mouth to deliver some kind of retort, but found that he had none.

“Nicky, wasn’t it?” Joe said, breaking the silence. “You’re Nile’s friend?”

Still not finding his voice, he nodded.

“You wanted to talk to me about designing our sign and logo, but then you ran out—is what Sébastien told me.” Joe kept looking at him, dark eyes almost unblinking with their inquisitive stare.

Nicky felt like a rabbit being cornered by a wild dog, his heart beating too fast for him to settle with a few deep inhales and exhales through his nose.

“Hey,” Joe said, in a quieter voice. “You okay?”

“No,” he rasped without thinking. “I don’t think I am.”

“Yeah, I figured. Were you going somewhere specific?” Joe looked around them, frowning. “Can’t imagine where at this hour.”

“I was just out for the a walk,” he said in a breathless rush, still feeling like he had been caught doing something wrong somehow. “Where were you going?”

“Honestly, I was going to head the shop and ready some doughs, it helps me clear my head.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No, and looks like you can’t either.” Joe finally released his grip on his arm, stepping back. “Wanna join me?”

“To the bakery?”

“I could use some adult company after being kept up by Sébastien’s gremlins.”

Somewhat relaxing, Nicky found that he had no excuse to weasel out of his offer, and the sliver of optimism in him hoped this could be a chance to get the job Sébastien had offered.

“Sure.”

Unexpectedly, Joe put an arm around Nicky’s shoulders and steered him ahead. “Let’s go.”

Breath caught in his throat, Nicky first realized that Joe was A) Warm and B) Smelled Great. Like he’d just showered. He wanted to snuggle closer, take in a deeper whiff…

Just how long had it been since he’d been this close to a man he wasn’t related to? His thought process had leaped from weary to weird very fast, and all from the touch of this one man who, frankly, still had him on edge.

“So, why did you run out on me that day?” Joe asked as they crossed the street to his shop. Was it that close? How had he ended up here without even thinking about it?

“I…don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

There was no way he could say ‘You scared me off’ and not have it come out as hurtful or stupid, so he went with “I think I was having a panic attack.”

“Oh,” Joe said softly. “I’m so sorry, were you already anxious when you came in?”

“I’m always anxious these days.”

“Damn. Do you know why?”

“Yeah, but knowing doesn’t stop it.”

They had reached the shop and Joe stepped away from him to unlock the door. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Following him, eyes adjusting to the warm light of the interior, Nicky blinked slowly. “What does?”

“Knowing exactly what’s wrong and not being able to think your way out of it.” Joe went behind the counter and headed to the kitchen, stopping with the door half-open. “You coming?”

Swallowing, Nicky followed him all the way in, the lighting in there different, the smell of flour and oven cleaner was in the air, but the layout was a little different than he remembered, a spacious rectangular room with metal workstations in the middle and surrounding granite counters emerging from the surrounding walls. Some drawers must have been mobile.

Joe took down a container of flour then brought out a large stainless steel bowl and a packet of what must have been yeast. Nicky hadn’t baked anything himself in ages, he used to help Nonna make dinner when Caterina was too young to be trusted with knives and the stove, and occasionally made dinner in high school.

He wondered if he remembered how to make a ciabatta.

Joe laid out everything on the workstation splitting the room horizontally, and got to work, measuring out the flour, water and seasonings then left for the fridge, returning with butter and eggs.

After readying everything with a frown of concentration, he started mixing them. “So, what’s wrong?”

Stunned, Nicky gave the usual cheeky response, “What isn’t wrong?”

He looked up and leveled Nicky with a tired stare. “Don’t get cute with me, mister. We’re going to talk about this and you’re not going to get out of it by being vague.”

The corners of Nicky’s lips curled up slightly, a tinge of amusement thawing at his frigid unease. “You have a lot of experience with that?”

“Sébastien, my partner, was brought up to think it’s rude to openly discuss your feelings. I practically have to chase him around like a child at bedtime to get him to say something beyond ‘Don’t worry’.” Joe dumped the slippery dough on the table and began to knead it aggressively. “He drives me crazy, especially because I know he’s been having a tough time of it lately, and that he’s going through what I went through. So, you’d think I’d be the one to vent to, right? Wrong!”

“Maybe he’s not the chatty sort?”

Shaking his head with a humorless, dismissive laugh, Joe flipped the dough, continuing to knead it. “You should see him when he’s drunk, or when he has a meltdown, it’s like a dam broke. I keep telling him this isn’t healthy, that he needs to share and unwind, but he still thinks he’s being weak or a burden—”

Pausing, he let out a long breath, cooling down. “We literally met in a support group! He just sits in the corner, like what the hell?”

Though Nicky was guilty of this non-committal attendance himself, he laughed. He really shouldn’t have, but the way Joe talked, animated, each explanation with an accompanying expression or tone, made his smile grow. “You seem like a good friend.”

“I try. I mean, it’s only fair. Sébastien has been one of the best things to happen to me, we met in the worst period of my life. But I always felt like I benefit more from this friendship, so, it just…” he sighed.

“It weighs on you, that you’re the one who feels like the burden and wonder why people tolerate listening to you, while the person you confide in believes that about themselves, and you wonder if you’re really friends if they don’t trust you enough to unwind?”

Joe threw a hand his way, eyes brightening. “Exactly!”

“But you guys are partners, and you know what he’s like and likely what’s bothering him, so that’s good.”

“Yeah, I do, but I don’t know how exactly he feels, you know?” Joe shook his head, bouncing his curls as he kneaded harder, using his knuckles to practically punch the dough. Nicky could see his muscles straining. “Because he knows exactly how I feel about everything ranging from how the last batch of savory breadsticks turned out to the last argument I had with my cousin over the phone.”

“What was the argument about?”

“His mom being a terrible guest and making my mom clean up after her like she’s in a hotel.”

“They in-laws?”

“Worse, sisters.” Joe made an overwhelmed face. “They cut each other off for a while, then my grandmother died and everyone wanted to come grieve and offer comfort, and my aunt Lobna is the kind that needs everything to be about her.” He paused his work, gesturing. “Look, I love my family, and it’s not like I see them every week, but could they at least try to make the time any of us spend together worth remembering?”

“I feel you on that, I’ve been avoiding most of my relatives except for my sister, father and grandmother, even then I only have the energy for my sister.”

Joe raised his brows at him. “She doesn’t judge you, does she?”

“It’s less judge, and more nudge.”

A second passed in silence then Joe cracked up, breaking out into fast, rippling laughter before quickly tiring out. “Did you mean for that to rhyme?”

“I guess? I don’t know?” Nicky paused, looking down to realize that Joe had finished what he was doing and was leaving the dough to rise.

“Did I throw you off your train of thought?”

“I wasn’t aware I was on-board let alone making a trail.”

Joe snorted, a sound of amusement rather than dismissive. “So, you were just wandering the streets, _not_ lost in thought?”

“Maybe I’m sleepwalking?”

Joe cracked a tired yet daring grin at him that made Nicky’s sleep-deprived mind buzz. “Then that would make me guilty of kidnapping.”

Some part of him felt that he had been brought here against his will. But that was the part that hated leaving the apartment in general, twitching whenever anyone spoke to him about anything deeper than a direct exchange at the grocery store.

Joe patted his hands together, covering them in more flour before dumping more melted butter and continuing his exhausting effort with the dough.

“Don’t you have a mixer?” he asked. “What are you making that needs this much strength?”

“Brioche, and yes, we do, but it helps me channel my irritation.” He stopped then tore a piece, stretching it. It didn’t tear, thinning enough to become translucent in the middle. “And I think it’s had enough of me for now.”

He dusted the excess flour off before coming around to lean against the counter by Nicky. “So, I’ve been talking enough for the both of us.”

Suddenly, he felt nervous again. “Have you?”

“I have. It’s very rude of me.” He nudged Nicky with his elbow. “Your turn to rant.”

Was he capable of ranting? How would he even get his complaints in order? Did he start small with family, then job problems, then the fact that he’d wasted his youth in the military doing whatever he was told, all in the hope that he’d emerge with the funds for his schooling?

Were these even legitimate complaints? Did anyone these days want to hear someone like him whine? Some of his relatives were unsympathetic, one insinuating that it was his fault he’d nearly been blown up.

Why did he do that? Why did he think this was a good idea instead of joining the seminary? But it was too late to do what his father did because he could barely focus enough to read his rejection emails let alone study to be a banker. He was so stupid stupid _stupid_ —

He felt hands gripping his shoulders and a voice soothingly whispering, “Hey, I need you to breathe with me.”

Thoughtless, he held his breath. Joe’s hands slid up to cradle his jaw, aiming his face up so their eyes met.

Joe’s eyes were a little downturned, with puffy skin underneath, and a dark, clear brown like coffee beans and exuded the warmth of a fresh-brewed pot.

Slowly, Nicky felt his breathing syncing with Joe’s, calming him.

“That’s better isn’t it?”

“Better,” Nicky agreed, before blurting “Best would be if you could lobotomize me with that spoon.”

Joe’s mouth curled down and back at the edges, baring his upper teeth in a grimace. “That sounds more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I don’t know, my brain has been itching a lot lately, maybe it needs a good scratch.”

A sudden, harsh _‘HA!’_ escaped Joe, who clapped his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s not funny.”

“You can laugh if you want.”

Joe shook his head. “You’re clearly upset, and I said I wanted you vent, so I’m taking this seriously.”

“I don’t know if you’d be this sympathetic if you knew what bothered me.”

“Try me.”

“I recently got discharged, and I’m not coping well.”

Joe’s brows rose slightly. “That’s how you met Nile, then?”

He nodded.

Stepping back, giving Nicky a slow, sweeping once-over, he asked, “Were you injured or were you in trouble?”

“Injured.” He raised his left arm. “Our Jeep ran over an IED while scouting. Flipped us over, glass and shrapnel everywhere.” He then covered his head with his arms. “I did this to cover my head and now, some days my arm hurts so much I feel like I shouldn’t have bothered.”

He’d have gotten the full view of the others dying if he hadn’t.

Joe relaxed a little. “Honorable then?”

“Does it matter?”

“There’s a big difference between getting hurt and hurting someone else.”

All Nicky could do was uncomfortably roll his shoulders. “How do you feel about, you know, all this?”

Sighing loudly, Joe stroked his jaw. “Look, I’m tired of having this conversation, because somehow people _always_ bring it up like it’s my favorite topic—”

“Sorry.”

He continued, as if uninterrupted. “But just to get it out of the way so we never have to talk about this again, I know a lot of people end up like you because they had little to no options.”

Nicky could only nod.

“Ideally, this situation would not exist, but I still wish the people in charge would drop dead. Ones who destabilize countries from the safety of their penthouses, create coups, insurrections and wars to install their puppets in power or have an excuse to invade. Then get rich off misery and have their actions covered up, sanitized and sanctified by the media.” He let out a long, worked-up exhale, eyes widening. “Last person I’m mad at is you, or Nile or others like you. Not unless they joined to have an excuse to be unchecked monsters abroad.”

Nicky cringed. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

Joe waved him off. “So, why do you think I wouldn’t care about you getting hurt?”

It was excruciating enough having this conversation with his sister, then his grandmother after a birthday was ruined by a mouthy cousin. He didn’t feel like having it again with a stranger.

So, he just stood there, hoping to project enough awkwardness for Joe to change the subject like he so clearly wanted to.

Moving slowly, Joe returned to the dough, separating it. “So, um, my grandpa fought in the Six-Day War and watched as all his friends died and rotted around him in Sinai.”

That was horrific. Why would he tell him this?

“Every year, on the Sixth of October, he’d lock himself in his study and cry his eyes out. Because he’d relive what he saw over there.” Joe then sought out his eyes. “Was it his fault for going where he was ordered to, when this was all his asshole president’s doing?”

Taken aback, Nicky spluttered “What the fuck, no!”

“There’s your answer.”

“My answer for what? I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Nicky was left blinking through his astonishment. What exactly did Joe read off his face and how?

Clearing his throat, Joe casually continued, “What did you do exactly?”

“Good aim and eyesight landed me in lookout and patrol mostly.”

Joe let out a low whistle. “You must be great at playing darts then.”

“I guess. I haven’t played games in ages.”

“Then maybe you should come out with me sometime,” he said, softening. “For some mindless fun.”

Was…was he flirting with him?

No, he must have imagined it.

“That’d be nice,” Nicky admitted. “I could use some mindless.”

“Couldn’t we all?” Joe winked. “I can’t remember the last time I did anything that wasn’t required of me.”

“I can’t remember what I used to do before.”

“Hang out with friends? Play video games? I don’t know, what did guys our age grow up doing?”

“Beats me.”

Joe rolled the dough into a ball, dropped in a bowl and covered it. “What kind of kid were you in school?”

“A face in the crowd, nothing special.”

Joe looked up at him through his eyelashes and Nicky felt his throat tighten. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“What were you?”

“An awkward nerd, under a lot of pressure, barely had time for friends,” Joe said with a heaping of exhaustion. “My siblings and I were expected to be multilingual, academically accomplished, mastering at least one instrument or some other art form, play a sport competitively and have a twelve-year post-graduation plan.”

“Did your school district fund a lot of programs or what?”

“Nope. Private school.” Joe clicked his teeth. “Most of that was already provided to produce kids parents could competitively boast about.”

Nicky’s mind whirred at that. “Private school?”

Joe hunched as he turned away to stick the dough in the fridge. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. All that money and I become a baker? I must have a few screws loose.”

More like he was suddenly even more out of Nicky’s league because Joe’s dating pool was likely limited to Ivy Leaguers.

“No. But now that you mention it, I’m wondering why you’re not in a shiny building somewhere in Manhattan.”

“That was the plan but…” he returned to the workstation and started making more dough, a simpler mixture, regular loaves this time? “I always liked cooking and baking, making sweets with my Nana when she visited. And I was in Business School and then…”

He stopped and stared at the empty air for a good minute before snapping out of it, breathing heavily. “I had to drop out. I couldn’t study anymore. I barely knew what day it was for a while. But I just started baking on autopilot and then Sébastien tried some of my stress-baking and mentioned that he’s wanted to start his own shop and I was like ‘Let’s do it, I’ll make the food’ and, well, here we are six years later.”

At the start of his rant, Joe had mentioned that he’d met Sébastien at a support group. He wondered what it was that had happened to the both of them that brought them together, but he didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask.

“Anyway, I’m back to talking too much.” Joe brought out a loaf pan and started kneading a softer dough. Toast for sandwiches? “Start talking, Nicholas.”

“Nicolò.”

His brows rose along with his lips, flashing an intrigued grin. “Nicolò? Like Machiavelli?”

“You know who Machiavelli is?” was out his mouth before he could remind himself that Joe had a top-tier education.

He groaned internally. “Yeah, some of the required reading my dad assigned was philosophy.”

“Weren’t the homework, cricket and violin lessons enough, he had you reading philosophy too?” Nicky teased.

“I didn’t play cricket,” Joe said, like the thought was ridiculous. “I played tennis.”

“But you played the violin?”

Back to kneading, he let out a long exhale, fluttering his lips like a horse. “Badly, yes.”

Nicky snorted. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that my instructor told my parents that I must have been tone-deaf. Which is honestly a relief, because they would have switched to me piano if they thought there was hope.” Joe mimed playing the violin. “Seriously, you should have seen me, struggling to keep it between my chin and my hand, dragging the bow across the strings like it was a saw, and making my instructor cringe and correct me til she went blue in the face. I made that poor little instrument screech like a cat in heat.”

That was what finally wrung a laugh out of him. It was so hard and sudden that he coughed.

“Oh, God, are you okay?”

In between eye-watering coughs and laughter, he raised his thumb as he steadied himself across from Joe. “Yeah, I think it’s just been so long I’ve forgotten how laughing works.”

“Now would be a good time for me to stop hogging the venting session and for you to talk.” He flipped the dough over, continuing his kneading. “We barely got past your name and I made it all about me.”

“More like I did. I kept asking you questions.”

“So, you’re dodging?”

“Maybe.”

He sought out his eyes, glimmering with concern. “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable? I really am sorry I yelled at you that first time.”

“I dumped lemonade on you and almost killed your phone. Did you ever get that important call, by the way?”

“I did, it’s going great, she’s going to be here soon—you’ve got me doing it again!” Joe slapped the dough, frustrated. “I’m serious, enough. Talk. Now.”

Nicky made an uneasy face. “Would talking get or cost me the job?”

“Job?” he frowned, then his brow softened. “Right. You’re a designer. Sébastien told you to submit an idea, yeah?”

“He did, I was supposed to talk to you about it when I…”

“Ran so fast you left your shadow behind?”

Now that was an image he’d like to draw, if he had the basis for a comical picture book. “More like a cloud of dust in my wake, but that works too.”

“What were we supposed to discuss?”

“Basically, what you wanted the sign or branding to look like. He said you had more particular ideas.”

Nodding, Joe jerked his head at the door. “Alright, it’s a few hours til we open so I’ll make us something to drink and we can get professional.”

“So, this was strictly personal?”

Over his shoulder, Joe gave him a piercing look accompanied by a smirk. “It can get more personal if you like.”

Nicky could feel himself flushing and his confusion doubling. It had to be the sleep-deprivation getting to him. And the fact that Joe was annoyingly attractive enough to have occupied his thoughts the past week.

Following him out, he watched as Joe puttered around the drinks section and turned on the lights, humming a familiar tune.

Nicky hummed along, trying to figure out where he’d heard it before.

“It’s been in my head all week, driving me crazy,” Joe gestured at the showcase. “Want anything? Take your pick.”

“No, thanks.”

The disapproving, annoyed look he gave him by angling his head downwards, his curls falling into his eyes, made Nicky’s heart beat extra fast. “I know for a fact you didn’t have dinner or any midnight munchies, so you’re having a breakfast with me.”

“I’m really not hungry.”

“We’re not talking about work on an empty stomach.”

“You drive a hard-bargain.” Nicky approached the showcase, a trickle of unease-induced nausea persisting despite the tempting arrangement of pastries and sweets. There was a slightly different selection than the last time, they still seemed to be a mix of French pastries and what Nicky gathered was Greek and Middle Eastern sweets.

He pointed at round biscuits covered in sesame seeds. “What are these?”

“Barazeh—I’ve noticed a demand for gluten-free biscuits so these are made with tahini.”

Sweet tahini? He had to try these.

“Can I try some?”

“Sure, but also choose something that is more than a snack.” Joe gestured to the menu above his head. “We have regular sandwiches, and a few savory options.”

“Pick for me.”

“If you don’t like it, you’re still finishing it,” he warned. “How do you like your coffee?”

“With lots of cream and sugar.”

That seemed to amuse him. “Creamy, sweet coffee? What kind of an Italian are you?”

“What’s wrong with lattes?”

“Nothing—bad joke, I forgot for a second that that was Italian. Figured you all drank espresso or something.” He scratched his ear. "What does it mean?"

"It's short for _caffelatte._ Milky-coffee."

Joe nodded understandingly. " _Café au lait_ , right."

Nicky glanced at the drinks menu. “You making a Turkish coffee for yourself then?”

Joe stuck his tongue out and gagged as he went off to the side, clattering around, the sounds of a toaster oven revving up and a coffee maker beeping emerging. “The only time I drink that is when I want to read the coffee stains.”

“Read the what now?”

“Like reading tea leaves, but its the marks left behind by black coffee in its little cup.”

“I did not know that was a thing, but I’m interested in trying it.”

“Come over sometime and I’ll make it for you.”

Nicky felt like he was a child picking the petals off the flower, going _‘Was he flirting with me? He was not. Is he flirting with me? He’s not’_.

Sitting across from each other at a table with plates of barazeh, cheese and spinach samosas, and their respective drinks—Joe, evidently a tea person, taking his with cream as well—Nicky cleared his throat. “So, why don’t you have a sign if you’ve been at this for years?”

“We mostly depended on word of mouth to keep costs low, but things have been picking up and we want to expand, add more space on the roof, more dishes, and other shops, so Sébastien and I figured it was time to have a brand.” Joe sipped his tea. “In retrospect, we probably should have thought of a less silly name.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but I didn’t know how to not sound like I’m mocking you but…”

“What kind of a name is the Aubergenie?” Joe finished for him. “Long story short, it’s an inside joke. First thing he and I laughed about when we were significantly more miserable.”

“Is the inside joke exclusive? Or can it help me visualize an idea?”

“Not exclusive, it’s just not as funny as we thought it was. It’s kinda of a bilingual pun, but not really?” he gestured aimlessly, at a loss. “ _Aubergine_ is the French word for eggplant. It comes from the Arabic word _al-bazinjan_ , which sounds like _baiz al-jann_ , which basically means ‘genie’s egg’. So…” He paused his gesturing, hand out as if presenting the name. “Aubergenie.”

That was _adorable_.

“It’s stupid, I know, but we needed something that could group our idea of both French pâtisserie and Middle Eastern pasties and desserts, and there it was.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s kind of clever.” At that Nicky began imagining what a logo based on that idea could look like.

“Well, I’m glad you think so. Every now and then my mom is like _‘It’s not too late to name it something respectable’_.” He nudged Nicky’s arm. “Eat.”

Obeying, he bit into his savory samosa, the smell preceding the taste of the egg-washed pastry, and the herbs that joined the melty cheese and spinach. Just one bite reawakened his appetite and his stomach growled.

Judging by the quirk of his brows, Joe heard the sound of hunger. “Good?”

Nicky stuffed the rest of it in his mouth and nodded, chewing eagerly. “What do your parents think of you opening this place?”

“We’re not talking about me anymore, not today at least,” he said. “We can continue that story next time.”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

He winked. “Play your cards right and you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

Flirting. He had to be flirting. Wasn’t he? He couldn’t be misreading this.

Taking in a deep breath, he said, “I’m back at school, getting the education I paid for and I’m thinking of dropping out.”

Unlike most people he mentioned this to, Joe was sympathetic. “Can’t focus, huh?”

Nicky bit into the second samosa. “Can’t focus or find any enthusiasm, and I feel like it really wasn’t worth all those years and what sent me back home.”

The pain in his arm, which had been mostly dormant, flared as if responding to the mention of its cause. Nicky pressed his thumb against it, trying to smother it with pressure.

Leaning in, crossing his arms on the table, dark eyes sparkling with intrigue, Joe asked, “What were you planning to do before being an artist?”

This was not a conversation he wanted to have with who may become his boss. He didn’t even have it with his family.

He wondered what Father Tony was up to these days, and if he could find him somehow…

“Oh, you know, the usual kid-cycle of wanting to be a dozen things that turn out to not be feasible,” he said casually. “Why did our parents raise us with the idea that we could be whatever we wanted to be, like that was easy?”

“Must have been easier than explaining to a nine year-old that, no, you can’t be an astronaut and ‘Astronomer is not a valid career like it was in the Middle Ages’.”

“Sounds like your parents did explain that.”

Joe moved his head from side to side, an expression of _not-quite_. “My father entertained my aspirations, my mother was blunt with me. Each thought the other was being needlessly cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“Mhm. My mom said he was setting me up for disappointment and my dad said she was crushing my childhood naivety.” He took a gulp from his milk-tea. “Looking back, she may have had a point, I was awfully naive for too long compared to boys my age. That made me a target.”

“They also didn’t want to be soccer players and knights?”

“It was less about job aspiration and more about being gullible—and not overcompensating.” A stormy cloud gathered over Joe’s face. “I believed most of the pranks they pulled, and I was mocked and harassed for not talking about sex or even looking up what a naked woman looked like.”

Nicky didn’t really know what sex was until he was maybe eleven when his father gave him The Talk, and the reality of just how exactly his aunt got pregnant deeply unsettled him.

But he never was curious to find out what a naked woman looked like. His family thought him a late-bloomer and he agreed for a while. But back then he didn’t understand that his ‘admiration’ of actors’ bodies and his fixation with certain comic book characters was just plain attraction.

It took a disastrous crush on one of his friends to finally get him to stop ignoring those feelings and jerk off to comic panels of Nightwing doing acrobatics or the suggestive poses he was drawn in. It took paranoiacally checking out gay porn then scrubbing his Internet history and then trying what he watched with his equally horny neighbor to know for certain this was what he liked.

But fooling around with Ryan, then Dennis and then Jason, ended even worse than he’d anticipated. All that did was put him in the path of guys who only wanted to experiment or get off, or use him because their girlfriends weren’t budging.

Ryan never spoke to him again after they went past grinding. Dennis, who traded blowjobs with him, moved away without saying goodbye, severely hurting his feelings. Jason, his second crush, actually got to have sex with him.

Jason told the whole school that Nicky blew him against his will. Even when he denied it as a lie and went as far as punching Jason for it, he ended up having to switch schools.

He wondered how many people Joe had vying for his attention in school and college.

“Did they bully you?” he asked.

Joe nodded. “That was just one of the many reasons guys gave me shit. But I learned to play along soon enough, ‘Yeah, totally, this actress is so hot’.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like any of us could even get hard at the time.”

Nicky chuckled at that. “Yeah, boys really went out of their way to convince each other they found the Disney Channel girls sexy. I didn’t believe any of them for one minute, it felt so performative.”

“Because it was. Because I know for a fact a lot of us still thought girls were just boys with long hair until we were maybe fourteen.”

“Are you serious?”

“It was an all-boys school, if that explains anything.”

The movies he watched set in private or boarding schools now made him think that that must have been worse than Nicky’d initially thought. “It does.”

They continued chatting, all surface-level but with no awkwardness.

He couldn’t remember the last time his mood actually elevated throughout a conversation instead of dropping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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	3. Chapter 3

When he returned home, he crashed on his bed and slept almost soundly.

The dreams that lingered when he awoke contained flashes of Joe feeding him a danish, looking deep in his eyes as he licked the custard off his fingers.

Unable to keep from blushing, he tried to push aside those thoughts and got to work. It would not bode well for him to get off to someone he was going to work with for who knew how long. Even if he did flirt with him, Nicky had to stave off the urge to make any kind of move until he at least finished the job.

Sitting at his desk, he flipped open his sketchpad to the last thing he finished, a close-up of Joe’s eyes, and got to work on concepts for both a logo and maybe even how it could be incorporated into the shop’s name.

The rest of the week passed, and by the time Saturday came around, Nicky had finished two concepts, one of a genie’s lamp shaped somewhat like an eggplant and another of the name _Aubergenie_ with the lower-case B and G being fused with an eggplant-shape, the G being upside down, and the plant’s vines curling around the rest of the font. Once Joe and Sébastien gave him the okay, he’d scan them, take the design onto Photoshop and get to recreating it with digital efficiency, colors and all.

“You actually finished something?” Caterina gasped, raising her hands excitedly, nearly dumping the contents of her steaming mug. How was she not covered in burns?

“Yeah, I’m going to go show it to him.”

“Him?”

“Joe, the co-owner of the shop.”

Judging by her confusion, he hadn’t mentioned him before.

“Lemonade guy.”

She lowered her arms, a slight crease between her brows. “The one you ran away from? When did you get in touch with him?”

Treacherous glimpses of memories resurfaced, of Joe laughing, winking, flirting, the way his arms and shoulders looked while he was kneading the dough…

Snapping it out of it before he could blush and have her pursue that answer as well, he tried playing it cool. “A few days ago, we met by chance on a walk, hashed things out.”

She gave him a disbelieving look that scarily made her look like their grandmother. “That’s all?”

“We had a pretty good conversation. Talked for a few hours.”

“Hours?” Caterina shouted, green eyes bulging. “You did all that and you didn’t tell me?”

“To be fair, we were both busy the past few days.”

“You cagey liar, you should have told me this in at least a text!” She reached over and punched his arm. Pain that had been dormant all day flared and he dropped the sketchpad.

Doubling over, he clutched his arm, groaning. “Cat, what the hell?”

“Shit!” Caterina set down her mug and rushed to him, hands held out helplessly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forgot about the injury.”

“Good for you,” he ground out. “If only I could forget.”

“Here, hit me back so we’re even.”

He glowered at her. “Catia, we’re not children anymore, hitting you back isn’t going to make me not tell Nonna.”

She picked up the sketchpad, gesturing with it. “I’m sorry! What can I do to make it better?”

“Get me a painkiller and accompany me to hand in my proposal.”

She rushed around the kitchen, getting him some pills and a glass of water. “Why?”

“Because if it goes wrong I can blame you, and have you buy me a box of tahini cookies and spinach samosas.”

“Tahini… _cookies?_ ”

He gulped down the pills, massaging the pounding space around his scars. “They’re pretty good, like those gluten-free peanut butter cookies Enzo makes for his keto diet.”

“Well, now I have to come.”

And they made it to the Aubergenie within one minor traffic jam, entering to find it reasonably packed for a weekday.

Joe emerged in an orange apron dusted with flour, his hair slightly smoothed back, humming that same song from earlier that Nicky couldn’t place.

“Nicky, hey!” He waved from behind the girl at the cashier.

Standing close together, Nicky could now spot the resemblance. While Jessie had a looser curl texture in her long, dark hair, they had the same eye-shape, similar mouths and face shapes, only everything was softer and rounder on her. His sister, or at the least, his cousin.

He waved back, heartbeat elevating. Over the course of the past few days he’d forgotten just how different real Joe looked in comparison to the parts his memory focused on. And by that, he looked good, and somewhat inviting.

They met at the counter while Jessie dealt with a customer. “Hey, Joe. Where’s Sébastien?”

“Another pediatrician appointment for poor little Pierre.” Joe pointed to the table by the door that held three children, two boys, one around seven and another maybe five, and with them was a girl with big, loose, caramel-brown ringlets in the midst of her shoulder-length frizzing hair. “My mom’s readying to go on a work-cruise with my dad, so, I’m watching the kids today.”

Nodding, Nicky recalled that they had been staying with him when Sébastien’s youngest nephew had caught measles. Joe’s mother must have been who babysat them while he worked.

Caterina and Jessie started talking beside them, a cheerful conversation he gleamed had started from his sister complimenting her earrings. They retreated down the area, launching into an enthusiastic chat.

Nicky refocused on Joe and found him watching them. “Little sister. She yours?”

“She is, and it looks like they’re getting on as well as we have.”

“Did we, get on well?”

Joe leaned in, setting his forearms on the counter. “We got off on the wrong foot, but after that it was pretty nice.” He looked up at Nicky through his eyelashes. “I had a great time talking to you that night.”

Flirting. This was flirting. How did one even respond to flirting? All the guys he’d ever been with weren’t chatty, they were strictly about screwing around or screwing him over once they got bored. The closest thing he’d had to a long-term relationship was whatever the hell he had going on with Keane.

Quickly pushing aside the memory of Keane, and the sight of him walking away from the wreckage of their flaming Jeep, Nicky refocused on Joe. “Likewise, it was really easy talking to you. I can’t remember the last time _I didn’t_ have an awkward conversation that ended fast.”

Save for maybe Nile, but they mostly texted, and their conversation had devolved into her catching him up on what he’d missed, pop culture-wise, and giving him summaries about certain animated shows. Then she started teaching him new memes, sometimes spamming him with memes specific to fanbases she was in. It was half pure mindless fun, and half her poking him to make good on the deal to come over and ‘get a geeky education’.

He’d watch whatever wacky cartoon she chose if things went well today, as a thank-you.

“So,” Joe said slowly, wagging his brows at him. “I hear you got something for me.”

Why did that sound so suggestive?

To avoid a bumbling, flustered reply of “Yeah, I’ve got a crush on you,” he held out the sketchpad, open on the rendering of the shop’s name.

Lower lip curling up and out in intrigue, Joe nodded. “I like the idea of the vines and the slight calligraphy to the font.”

“Yeah, I figured both Arabic and French are known for calligraphy so I’d give it a bit of a joint, and tilted sweep.”

Joe appeared impressed. “Good thinking. Is there also a logo, for branding and stuff?”

Nicky turned the page. “I made this eggplant lamp, because genie-egg.”

The casual, flirty atmosphere vanished as Joe’s eyes widened.

“What?”

“It, um.” Joe was caught between embarrassment and amusement. “It looks like a little phallic, don’t you think?”

Nicky’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. He turned the page his way and stared at the image he’d created, an eggplant-shaped lamp that was thick near the handle with two curves for fingers, and slimmer and curving up at the end where the spout was.

Once he saw what Joe meant, he couldn’t un-see it.

It looked like a dick. It looked like a big, purple, dick and the handle looked like the outline of balls. _Just how horny was his subconscious?_

This was painfully embarrassing. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“Hey, hey. Hey!” Joe gripped his shoulder. “Don’t psyche yourself into an attack. Breathe, just breathe.”

Obeying, Nicky inhaled then exhaled slowly. He was still panicking.

“I like the concept!” Joe rushed to say. “I do, it just needs some adjustment.”

“Like what?”

Joe gave the concept another thoughtful look. “Just maybe remove the curve? Make it less of a lamp-eggplant and more a bottle forged or painted like an eggplant?

“A bottle? What kind of bottle?”

“A genie bottle.”

How did that idea not occur to him? Some eggplants were even shaped like bottles! “…Okay, I’ve heard the song _Genie in a Bottle_ , but I never got what that was about. Aren’t they in lamps?”

“The bottle version is older, and they’re a certain kind of bottle.”

“Like a wine bottle?”

“No, they’re not glass, and they’re shaped differently.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a, uh. Uhhh.” Joe’s eyes rolled up, teeth grazing his full bottom lip in a distracting way. “God, I’m having trouble finding words lately. It’s like this.” He mimed something curved at the bottom and getting slimmer at the top. “Very decorated, painted or engraved, or engraved and painted. But it’s not glass, it’s—its—” groaning, he pinched the skin between his brows before yelling, “Jess! How do you say _oumoum_ in English?”

She turned her hand up at him, confused. “ _Oumoum?_ Like a genie bottle?”

“Yes, that, but what’s another word for it?”

“I don’t think there’s another word for it, it’s just genie bottle.” Jessie mimed something with a long, narrow neck and bulbous base. “One of those metal bottle things that you keep rosewater or perfume oil in. Baba has some in his study, one is copper and the other is silver.”

Joe took out his cellphone and tapped out a rushed text. “Hold on, I’ll ask my dad if he has any pictures. I think one of them would suit the eggplant idea very well.”

“Wouldn’t that look even more phallic?” Nicky wondered, still anxious.

Jessie couldn’t help catching that part this time. “Phallic?”

Joe shushed her. “Get back to work.”

“No, I’m very interested in your dick-bottle conversation now. Aren’t you?” she asked Caterina, who covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

“We’re discussing work, and so should you be. Just tell your new friend about the passionfruit macarons and shut up.”

Defiant, brimming with the same hint of devious amusement Joe’s own eyes shone with, Jessie asked, “What are you two even talking about? Is there a trend of using bottles as dildos?”

If Nicky had wanted to be swallowed by the earth earlier, now he wanted to fall right into is molten core and be consumed, because that would be quicker, and more merciful than whatever jokes were about to be made at his expense.

“Yasmina, enough!” Joe shouted at her, turning a few heads. “There are customers, and children present. Either be professional or I’ll replace you.”

Raising her hands in surrender, she began talking to Caterina about the food in the showcase.

“I’m sorry about her, she still thinks she’s an edgy teen,” Joe whispered, touching his hand. Nicky was clammy whereas Joe was warm, it helped soothe him.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the lamp, I know you gave me a chance when you could be contacting a professional but I can fix it,” he rambled.

His phone buzzed and Joe blew out a puff of air. “My dad came through. Here’s what I mean.”

He showed Nicky a picture of a black bookshelf with what appeared to be neatly-arranged souvenirs. Two small, decorated camel dolls, a rusting copper lamp, a set of very stylized glass bottles with tapering stoppers, a palm-sized evil eye, a small statuette of the Egyptian cat-goddess Bastet, and in their midst were two long, colorful, long-necked metal bottles, the metal a smooth intersection of color and small, detailed, interlocking engravings.

Nicky now recognized what Joe meant. He’d seen some of these before, a translator that accompanied his unit had worn a bracelet of beads shaped like blue eyes, and the bottle was in a second-hand store his grandmother used to visit.

“Can you send that to me?”

“Yeah, let me crop it first and—” He looked up, staring over Nicky’s head. “Jessie, where are the kids?”

Nicky checked behind him and found the table by the door empty. Jessie and Caterina paused their chatting and followed their line of sight and Jessie yelped.

They rushed around the counter and Nicky acted alongside them before he could think, beating them out the door, head snapping in every direction. There were now cars in the street, people starting to leave work, the worst time for them to chose to skip rope outside or whatever it was children did these days.

By the crosswalk stood the three children in order of height, waiting for the light to turn red to take the crosswalk. That was a relief at least. What were they up to?

The red light came on and they began to cross the street. Nicky sped up, trying hard to remember what the two boys’ names were. He knew for a fact he’d heard them the day Nile introduced him to Sébastien.

Robin. One of them was definitely Robin.

“ROBIN!”

The eldest turned, hunching with guilt, but still walking, dragging his brother behind him by the hand.

Joe caught up with his jog, yelling, “Where the hell are you doing?”

At the sight of Joe, the boys hurried faster, reaching the other side, but the girl stopped dead, staring at them.

Then the green light came on and the nearest car moved.

Nicky acted before he could think, sprinting the last few feet and covering the girl with his body.

The car slammed into him. The girl screamed.

He had blacked out before he hit the pavement.

* * *

Nicky was alone in the Jeep, driving across a monochrome desert, looking for something, but he couldn’t see it.

A silhouette appeared in the near distance, and he sped up to see if this was who he was meant to find.

He called out. The figure turned to him, stopping.

It was his mother.

He drove faster, desperate to catch her, but she began to fade like a mirage and his car ran over a bump.

Something exploded. The blast tore through his ear-drums, heat preceded the blinding fire and the shattering glass that flew around him like crystalline hail as he went flying through the air. He raised his arms, covering his head, and the left one took the brunt of the cuts before a final roll landed him on it.

The car landed with a crash that crunched the metal and his head hit the sand.

Wheezing, struggling to lift his head, arm burning with severe pain, his entire body aching from the impact, he looked up as a pair of feet stepped into view.

But the feet didn’t belong to his mother, they were a pair of combat boots.

Nicky tried pulling himself out, reaching up for him, barely able to form the word “Help!” but Keane looked down at him with contempt, then he left.

Left him behind.

Now every part of him hurt, inside and out, and it spiked, rousing him.

Eyes flying open, he was met with painful brightness and the sound of a heart-monitor.

Oh, this again.

Back in the hospital, after another car-related accident.

His head pounded, and the rest of him was floating between lead-heavy numbness and bruising pain. He tried moving to sit up, then spotted someone sleeping by his bed.

After months of avoidance, Nicky found his father asleep in a chair, arms crossed, head hanging back in a way that was definitely bad for his neck.

“Dad,” he called, mouth dry, voice cracking. “Dad, wake up.”

No response.

Having no other choice, Nicky settled for imitating the way his grandmother got his father’s attention, an authoritative yell of “Salvatore!”

Salvatore was roused with a shout. Panting a little, he looked at him with wild eyes, his short grey hair a mess. “Jesus, Nicky.”

Reaching across the space between the bed and the chair, his father pulled his head in for a kiss. Helping him sit up, he now gave him an uncomfortable hug, not helped by the angle.

Sitting back, he instantly appeared more worn-out. “Why do you have to keep scaring me like this?”

“Keeping you on your toes,” Nicky sighed. “How long have I been here?”

“A day. They say we can take you home tomorrow.”

Nicky felt up his body, the pain almost consistent, but nothing like it was at the start of the year. “Anything broken?”

“No, thank God,” Salvatore sighed. “You have some real ugly bruises though, those will take a while to heal.”

“Great, just when I thought I could finally start working.”

Work. Joe. _The little girl._

“Wait, what happened? How did I get here?”

“Your sister can tell you about that,” he said. “Speaking of work, have you changed your mind about the bank yet?”

“Dad.” Nicky felt the brain-fog wearing off as confusion and irritation set in. “We talked about this.”

“Can’t hurt to talk about it some more.”

“Dad, I’m bad at math. You know this, and I don’t want to work at a bank.”

“Why not? It’s easier than what you’re doing now. Cat told me, and it sounds a lot harder than it’s worth.”

Nicky dropped his head back on the pillow. “I can’t. I really can’t bring myself to do this, especially not now.”

“You’re acting like I told you to go swim with sharks, or to marry Rita’s niece.”

Rolling his head, made direct eye-contact with him. “You’re telling me you don’t want that?”

Salvatore let out a long breath, closing his eyes. “I want you to have a happy, normal life. With a good job and a family, which is what every decent parent wants.”

“You think I’ll have that by imitating you?”

“It worked out pretty well for me.”

“Doesn’t mean it will for me.”

He waved a hand, staving off the animosity. “Look, we’re not arguing. You’re in bad shape, I’m relieved you’re okay, and nothing’s broken. I just want you to be safe and be happy for once.”

He raised his brows in his disbelief, facial muscles feeling very stiff. “That’s it?”

“At this point, it is.” The corners of his thin mouth, so much like Nicky’s own, quirked briefly in a tired smile. “Besides, I’ve got three other kids to bank on for grandkids and the bank.”

While he was on the brink of being upset, Nicky huffed a short laugh at that. “What makes you think I won’t have kids? I can do that, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re telling me you want to be a single dad? I tried that for a bit, and I would not recommend,” he said, somewhat jokingly. “Besides, it’s not like you ever brought anyone home.”

“Hard to, when I was rarely home, and couldn’t date.”

“You telling me you didn’t like any of the men you were stuck with?”

He really didn’t want to think of the time he wasted on Keane right now. “Yeah, Dad, that’s a great place to find a boyfriend.”

“That always seemed to be the case for the navy.”

That made him laugh, almost reluctantly, but the near-soundless guffaws tugged at the bruised muscles in his side, cutting him off in his tracks.

“I’m just pulling your leg.”

Caterina appeared in the doorway, holding a paper cup of what was definitely watery-coffee.

“Nico!” She shoved the cup at their father to throw her arms around his neck. “You’re a hero, you know that?”

“For putting up with you both?”

She mock-laughed, half-sticking out her tongue. “Who’s putting up with who? You’re not exactly rainbows and sunshine.”

He feigned surprise. “I’m not?”

“You’re a Danny Downer that’s what you are.” Turning to their father as she pulled her phone out from her pocket, she complained, “I helped him make his first friend back here, you know? Dragged him to the VA, and that led to him getting his first job.”

Their father goggled at him. “You got a job? That should have been the first thing you told me!”

“I didn’t get it yet.” At the mention, he nudged Caterina. “Hey, do you know what happened to the kids? Did Joe get to them?”

She sat by his legs, texting with her thumb. “Joe got to all of you. He’s the one who drove you here.”

Nicky’s mood instantly lightened. “He did?”

“Yeah, he dropped us both off then took the kids home. Jessie says they’re all grounded.”

“Does he have the authority to do that? What were they even doing?”

“Apparently they got bored of waiting in the shop all day and got the bright idea to walk to the nearest playground.”

A tired laugh of disbelief made his side ache even more. “Must be nice, being young enough to have zero foresight.”

“You had no foresight when you joined.”

That sucked whatever humor had permeated in the room.

“Caterina,” their father said firmly. “That’s not something to joke about.”

She palmed her face, back hunching. “Sorry. Sorry. That sounded better in my head.”

“If you have trouble thinking before you speak, eat an entire jar of peanut butter in your mouth,” Nicky grumbled.

“It’d wouldn’t fit.”

Nicky sat further up with the help of his father, examining his arm. “No, you do have a very big mouth. I don’t even want to know what private stuff you tell your friends.”

“Confiding in your friends is healthy, it’s what friends are for. You should try it sometime.”

“Kids, this is not the place for you to be snappy with each other,” Salvatore said.

“You’re plenty snappy with Uncle Pietro.”

“Because he deserves it,” he said firmly. “Where would he be if I weren’t around to smack those stupid ideas out of his head.” He looked out the window, trailing off slightly. “Wish I had someone to do that to be when I was your age.”

It didn’t take a genius to know he was talking about their mother. One of the two things Nicky’s subconscious had decided to torture him with.

Elisabetta Casagrande was a girl his father had met on a summer trip to Italy. They’d met in June and married in August, and after he brought her to America and the honeymoon phase had worn off, it became clear that they had made a mistake. But she had already been pregnant with Nicky.

After a few years of going back and forth, of being talked down by relatives, of being counseled by their priest, they had Caterina—the ‘Band-Aid baby’—and it became clear that this was not salvageable.

Nicky only remembered the biggest and last fight his parents had had. Not the specifics, but just his mother saying she’d had enough and wanted to leave. His father tried to guilt her, asking “What about the children?” and she’d said, “You can keep them.”

And she was gone. Gone back to Tuscany, no postcards, no letters, no calls, no nothing. Remarried with new children, like those years had never happened.

If anything, they were a testament to the failure of whirlwind romances. Perhaps this was why, on some level, Nicky chose guys he could never truly be with. So, he wouldn’t be surprised when they left him.

It still hurt though.

“Again, that’s what friends are for,” Caterina said. “Speaking of which, Nile is asking when she can come visit, and Jessie says the kids are super sorry.”

“They can be sorry by never pulling a stunt like that again.”

Nile. He hadn’t seen her at all this week, he’d promised he’d finally watch something with her. It seemed they were both in dire need of good company. He could use some ridiculous cartoons, maybe they’d stir his creativity.

Carefully moving his arm, now worse for wear again, but not nearly as bad as it was before, he asked, “When can I check out?

“I told you, not before tomorrow,” said Salvatore.

“But I’m awake now, I can just get up and—argh.” The bruises flared, making him hiss. “Jesus, how hard was I hit?”

“If it was a bit harder you’d have a few fractures, so it’s a good thing you’re sturdy. If it’d been me, I’d be broken in many places.”

“And if it had been the girl, she’d be dead,” he summarized, that conclusion helping him stomach the increased pain. At least he’d spared her and her parents from that.

Jessie looked at her phone. “Speaking of which, you’re getting another visitor.”

“Don’t tell me it’s Enzo.”

Both Salvatore and Caterina made identical faces of distaste. Salvatore stood, putting on his jacket. “I’m not letting him near you after how he and his girlfriend behaved at my birthday.”

“Where you going?” she asked.

“You have babysitting duty now, sleeping in this chair is stirring up some aches in these old bones.” He leaned over and kissed Nicky’s head in parting. “I’ll be here to check you out tomorrow, after that you’re coming over for dinner next week. Your nonna says no excuses.”

With his lack of appetite lately, Flora would be upset with him for not finishing his food again. “‘Kay. Bye.”

Kissing Caterina goodbye, their father left and Caterina eyed the door.

“What?”

“Well, since you’re awake, and you can’t leave until tomorrow…”

“Did you at least bring me my phone or something to busy myself with?”

“Your phone was in your pocket.”

“And?”

“And it—as Jessie translated—has ‘departed and is now at God’s mercy’.”

The car had crushed it. Great.

He shooed her with his good arm. “Go. Do your homework, or whatever.”

She stroked his hair softly. “We’ll get you a new one. It was old and outdated anyway.”

He stretched his neck to trade a peck on the cheek. “If you say so.”

On her way out, she almost collided with someone.

“Joe!” She raised her arms and he met her with a quick hug. “Glad you made it. I didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“Came as fast as I could,” and he sounded like it, panting slightly. Looking over her head, he waved at him.

Partly confused, mostly nervous, he waved back.

Holy shit, Joe was here. He was here for him.

Caterina side-stepped him, slipping out, but not before making excited faces and pointing at Joe from behind his back as he approached Nicky’s bed. When he sat on the chair by him, she gave him a thumbs-up and a wink and he wanted to strangle her with her own pigtails.

Pushing her out of his mind as she left, he focused on Joe, his insides buzzing with nerves.

Joe looked terrible. Staring at him with slightly-wet eyes, skin pale, eyes and cheeks sunken in, his hair limp and oily, like he hadn’t slept or showered.

“Hey,” Nicky breathed. “You okay? Are the kids okay?”

Joe laughed nervously, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth then lightly wiped at his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, they’re fine. They’re in big trouble, but they’re fine.” He stopped and stared at him for a bit, before letting out a shuddering breath. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Nicky wanted to say something along the lines of ‘Forgiving me for the dick-lamp’ or ‘Fry me some of those doughballs’ but he didn’t feel like joking, and Joe didn’t look like he was in the condition to be teased.

Feeling bold, he reached for his hand. “You don’t need to.”

Joe let it be lowered from his face, lightly curling his fingers over Nicky’s own. “No, no, I really do. She would have died on impact and I don’t know what I would have done with myself.”

He tried smiling. “She okay? I hope her parents aren’t giving her too much of a hard time, kids can be stupid.”

“Oh, I’m trying not to, but look what happened to you. I don’t think me, or the boys, or Layla will be able to forget seeing you getting hit.”

Nicky frowned at him. First considering that Joe may have never actually seen something violent or scary in real life before, then he decided to make his move.

Joe was by the far the nicest and most openly affectionate of the men Nicky had ever gravitated towards. Talking to him had been easy, almost effortless companionship. He would be the change Nicky finally needed, and he seemed just as interested.

After finishing this job, he wanted to make it known that he wanted to pursue this, and they’d get to know each other more in the meantime.

“You can make it up to me by making me more of your food.”

Joe gave him a watery smile. “Anything you want, I’ll make all your meals for the rest of my life if you’d like.”

Now that was an encouraging proposal. Nicky was feeling excited.

“You don’t mind?”

“Nicky, you saved my daughter’s life, you can ask for whatever you want.”

His thoughts came to a crashing stop.

His— _His daughter?_

Daughter. Joe had a daughter. Which meant he had a wife, or at the very least a girlfriend.

Oh, God, he was so _stupid_. Of course Joe wasn’t interested in him.

He’d misread the signs, made it all up in his head. Again.

Overcome with shock and disappointment, his arm went limp, hand falling from Joe’s.

Worry crossed his face. “Hey, you feeling all right?”

Attempting to smile, Nicky nodded. “Yeah, just tired.”

“I’ll bet.” Seemingly calmer now, his full lips wobbling. “Anything broken?”

Just his hopes. Better that than his heart after a few months of one-sided flirting.

“Only our deadline,” he said. “Think you can give me an extension on the work?”

Breathing out with relief, he touched Nicky’s hand again, warm. “Take all the time you need.”

“You don’t want to get this done soon?”

Joe exhaled through his nose, sagging a little in his seat. “To be honest, I’ve been putting this off for years. I was initially supposed to do all the artwork.”

His sinking disappointment slowed, “You draw?”

“Used to. Haven’t had time for it in years, I used to make these portraits and landscape paintings and they got showed off by my schools and parents.”

Wow, he really was the whole package, wasn’t he? He found it hard not to hate Layla’s mother.

“Can I see some of your work?”

Brightening, he took out his phone. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Nicky wanted to screech at that.

“My phone broke. I actually think it staved off some damage,” Nicky told him awkwardly. “But you can look up my artist accounts?”

“Damage? Oh!” Joe gasped. “And here I was looking forward to finally getting your number.”

They hadn’t exchanged numbers after their talk at the bakery. The missed opportunity had weighed on Nicky, but in retrospect he probably wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from texting Joe embarrassing things.

“It might be a while til I can get a new phone.”

“What kind was it?”

“My dad’s old iPhone, not sure what version.”

Joe looked from his own phone to Nicky. “So, you’re used to using that kind of cell?”

“You could say that.”

“Guess we’ll compare work later.” He pocketed his phone. “You got anyone to take care of you back home? Or is your family busy?”

“My dad his job and his wife also has her job and their kids, so yeah,” Nicky admitted. “Why? You offering to babysit me?”

Suddenly, his demeanor shifted, becoming less shaken and almost confident. “I’ve already been babysitting Bas’s nephews alongside my own spider-monkey, so I could use the adult company.”

Evidently not the kind of adult company Nicky had had in mind.

But this was the usual polite insincere offer. He just had to follow up with his end of the social norm song and dance. “That’s so sweet of you, but I’ll be fine.”

Joe gave him a quick once-over. “No offense, dude, but I don’t think you’ll be able to wash your own hair, let alone do your laundry or cooking.”

“I’m not helpless, or alone. I live with my sister.”

He rolled his eyes. “Clearly a mature adult if she’s clicked with _my_ sister.”

That made Nicky almost smile. “Cat’s been the voice of reason since I got back, so maybe she’ll be a good influence on Jessie.”

“I sure hope so, but still.” Joe came in close again, speaking with soft intent. “Come on, it’s the least I can do.”

His face was so close. Nicky could smell him, his scent a mix of flour, oven fumes, sweat and a cool cologne he’d spritzed before coming over. “I…you don’t have to…”

“But I want to.” Joe’s tender, dark eyes were sucking him in, stealing his resolve. “Let me take care of you.”

As someone who had nearly become a priest, he should know all about resisting temptation, but Nicolò Genovesi was a very weak, very stupid man.

He licked his dry lips. “Okay. ”

Joe gave him the brightest grin.

Oh.

_Oh._

Laughter lines. He had so many laughter lines.

Nicky wanted to trace each one with his fingertip, sketch his face and take his sweet time shading each dip and crease and how they emerged to make way for that smile.

This won’t end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Chapter 4

It was either the morphine, the shock or the fact that he didn’t entirely believe Joe’s offer was sincere that made him forget to ask the most important question.

_What does your wife think of all this?_

Seeing as he had no phone, and no intention of really taking him up on his offer, Nicky got picked up by his dad and sister, and driven back to their apartment, where he took his painkillers and collapsed.

When he awoke, there was chatting outside, not loud enough to be in the small hallway between his bedroom and the bathroom, so somewhere in or around the kitchen.

Dazed, he forgot about his sustained damage as he pushed himself up, sparking a lightning-bolt of pain up the left side of his body. Yelping, he tapped around for the pill bottle and tried opening it. One-handed proved to be nearly impossible, so he stuck it between his thighs and kept rolling the cap to no avail.

Why did they child-proof medication given to a grown man?

Seeing no other choice, he stuck the bottle between his teeth to free his right hand to open the door, and headed out.

It was late in the morning, possibly close to noon, but the smell of espresso was strong, the daylight from the window over the sink even stronger.

Blinking the bleariness away, he noticed Caterina and Nile with their heads together, like they were sharing secrets.

“—and it’s like a part of me wants it to not happen. Every time I make something close to a move, or think I see a hint of a chance I just back out and disappear for a couple of days.”

“You ghost him?”

Nile covered her face with the ends of her scarf. “Kinda hard to ghost my mom’s boss.”

“Is that why you’re hesitant, because you don’t wanna make things weird for your mom?”

She peeked at Caterina through her fingers. “…Maybe. I don’t know. I just don’t want the risk of anything bad happening.”

“That’s called self-sabotage,” Caterina told her. “You’re not giving yourself a chance.”

“A chance to what? Make a fool out of myself?”

“To pursue what you want!” Caterina slapped her lightly on the arm. “ _Carpe diem!_ Take that risk.”

“You’re forgetting that we’ve already taken risks,” was Nicky’s greeting as he joined them.

Nile practically leaped on him. “Oh my God, Nicky!”

Fondness softened his irritable mood as he wrapped his good arm around her. They hugged tightly, but briefly.

“Hey,” he said mid-yawn. “When did you get here?”

“As soon as I heard.” Nile lightly set her hands on him. “You weren’t answering my texts, and I told Sébastien about it when I stopped by and he told me Joe was visiting you _in the hospital_.” Worry filled her eyes, large and shiny like Bambi, so emotive they tore at his heartstrings. “He said you stepped in front of a car and my first thought was…”

That he had done it on purpose.

“I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. “I mean, things haven’t been great, but I’m not going to do that.”

She lightly squeezed his shoulders. “I know it’s a stupid question, because I’ve been there, but how are you doing?”

Nicky made a tired face, raising his bruised arm. “How does it look?”

Both her and Caterina made hissing noises of sympathetic pain.

“It looks like it’s gotten worse,” said Caterina. “Some of these bruises look black.”

“It was a pretty hard impact, it’s a wonder nothing’s broken or at least fractured,” Nicky said.

“Depends on your size and make, if it were me I’d definitely be in a cast now,” Nile said. “And if it had been Lily, she’d be in a full-body cast, or worse…”

Nicky swallowed, remembered the girl’s terrified face, her feet stuck to the pavement as the car advanced on her.

“What kind of an asshole floors it when there’s a child in front of them?” Nicky took the offered mug of coffee from his sister, leaning lightly against the counter. Joe and his daughter solidifying in his thoughts. “Did they catch who it was?”

“I’m not sure, we were too busy fussing over you and the kids,” said Caterina. Something buzzed and she pulled out her phone, concern moving into mild excitement. “Good thing you’re awake, we’re expecting more visitors.”

He swallowed a bigger gulp than he meant to, it stung his tongue. “Visitors? Aren’t we going to have dinner at Dad’s later this week?”

Not responding, Caterina left for the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” he asked Nile.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, I just got here.”

“About that, what were you talking about?”

Immediately, she avoided his eyes. “Just small-talk.”

“It seemed more in-depth than that.”

“Well, it was a while til you got up, we got a little comfortable with each other.”

“Was it a while or did you just get here?”

That riled her up a little. “What is this, an interrogation?”

“Hey, I’m just telling you that if you want to talk, I’m here.” He took another sip, the coffee didn’t have enough sugar. “I’m in a bit of a similar situation, so if you want to vent over pizza and anime, now would be the perfect time.”

Like he had said a magic word, Nile came around, eyes wide with curiosity. “What do you mean? Also, what happened?”

“I asked first!”

She did a little frustrated shimmy accompanied by a groan. “Okay, so I like this guy, have for a while, but I didn’t really realize it until recently. Now I’m weighing just how much of a chance I’ve got and if I should go for it.”

“I got that, but has Sébastien given you any reason to think he is or isn’t interested?”

Nile’s jaw dropped and a small sound of protest escaped her before she gathered herself. “How did you…? Is it that obvious?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God, do you think he knows?”

“In my experience, men are clueless about this kind of stuff, so I doubt it,” he explained. “Also, he seems pretty affectionate, so I doubt he’ll notice unless you want him to.”

“Huh.” Nile removed her hands, wiping them down her shirt like they had been sweaty. “Haven’t thought about that.”

“Yeah, it seems he’s in a very friendly environment and his friends are all like that.”

“What do you mean?” she narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s been going on with you?”

“Apart from the usual?”

“Yes, Nicky, apart from the usual, which you said you’d vent about.”

He smiled at her awkwardly. “Food and TV first?”

A knock came at the door and Caterina didn’t reemerge to answer.

Discarding his drink, he went to get the door. “Dad, shouldn’t you be at work—”

It wasn’t his father, or even his stepmother and half-siblings, but Joe and Layla.

Bearing a box from his shop, Joe looked better than the last time he saw him, face fuller and skin tone warmer, void of pallid exhaustion, his hair defined and voluminous, shining like it was still damp from a shower, and he wore dark jeans and a red shirt with the sleeves rolled up and half the buttons opened on a white undershirt.

How could such a casual look be effortlessly attractive.

“Hey,” he greeted, dazed.

“Hi.” Joe smiled and Nicky felt his kneecaps liquifiying. “How’re you doing today?”

He was about to answer truthfully, then he spotted Joe’s daughter watching him with nervous little eyes, and settled for, “A bit better.”

Joe raised the box. “May we come in?”

Nicky practically tripped over himself, opening the door to usher them in. “Of course!”

Joe headed straight for the kitchen to greet Nile and a reappeared Caterina, and Nicky found himself still by the door with Layla.

She had her brown hair in pigtails tied at the ends with purple scrunchies that matched her pants, and a striped white and grey shirt that appeared a little small. She must be in the middle of a growth spurt.

Standing stiffly, she raised a little round box in her hands, metal, not like the ones the Aubergenie sold their bakes in, but something from a gift shop. “Made these for you.”

He accepted the box, feeling touched. “Thank you.”

Opening it proved to be a little difficult thanks to the spark of pain that went through his left arm. Layla noticed and raised her little hands to remove the lid for him.

Inside was a set of cat-shaped choux pastries, flaky, golden-brown balls with little peaks for ears, and eyes and whiskers made with chocolate icing.

“These are adorable, I love them,” he said. “I’m going to feel very bad about eating something this cute.”

Looking up from her hands, she smiled slightly at him, her chubby cheeks rising to almost shut her shining eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, they’re both tempting and cute, I want to eat and preserve them at the same time.”

“I know whenever I make something I don’t want to eat it, I just want to keep looking at it.”

“I guess that’s the good part about regular art, it can look good but eating it will have consequences.”

She rolled up on her toes, invested. “Like?”

“To start, lead poisoning from paint, splinters from colored pencils, and you can break your teeth and cause all sorts of damage if you want to eat a tablet.”

Layla giggled, scrunching up her face adorably. “What about other kinds of art?”

“Like?”

“Like those pictures made of Skittles? Or the soap that looks like cupcakes?”

“Some of those soaps look better than actual food, but it’s not a good idea to eat them.” He paused, thinking. “Pretty sure those candy portraits are full of glue, so I wouldn’t recommend eating those either.”

She made a little displeased face. “There’s so much stuff that looks tasty, but I can’t eat it.”

“Tell me about it, when I was little I wanted to eat marbles. Do you kids your age still play with marbles?”

“Marbles like statues?”

“I guess not. You probably grew up playing games on your parents’ cellphones.”

After the slow blink of confusion passed, Layla made a secretively excited face and pointed behind him. “We have something else for you.”

“The box your dad brought?”

She shook her head, taking hold of the sleeve of his left arm and gently tugging him after her.

In the kitchen, Joe was making them a variety of coffee drinks and was splitting up the contents of the box onto plates.

It was a sight Nicky probably would have dreamed of, if he had let his fantasies get too indulgent. Joe in his apartment, making him lunch.

Only the situation was not the one he’d like. It was almost like a genie’s wish, granted partly, exploiting the room for interpretation to inspire suffering.

If not a genie then the devil from _Bedazzled_. Giving him what he asked for the in the worst way, which was everything from him having an excuse to not join the seminary, to having to join to get ‘taken care of’ and ‘free college’, and getting a ‘boyfriend’ in the form of a selfish asshole who used then abandoned him, and getting out of it by nearly dying.

Now the first guy he’d been attracted to that wasn’t a mess or an asshole, had to be dangled in front of him first then ripped away.

It was hard to be resentful of that when his daughter was here, and she just made Nicky smile.

When they approached, Caterina abruptly moved, taking her drink and plate. “Hey, girls, wanna come watch TV with me? Nicky and my friends never have time for it.”

Mouth half full with a samosa, Nile followed, mumbling, “Can it be something stupid? I’m not in the mood for anything that will require me to think too much.”

“Comedies it is then.” Caterina disappeared into the living room, only to call out. “You coming, sweetie?”

Without question, Layla released Nicky’s hand to give him a quick hug that he didn’t fully register then skipped after them.

His heart fluttered a little, and it wasn’t because Joe was watching him with a soft expression. “How are you feeling, really?”

“I feel exactly what happened, like I got hit by a car.”

Joe flinched.

“Sorry.”

“What are you sorry about? Here, I figured you liked these so I made a bunch more, different fillings.” He offered him a plate of savory samosas and the syrupy-sweet, half-moon fried dumplings he remembered were called _qatayef_. “Tell me which is your favorite.”

Trading the cat pastries for the offered plate he picked up the samosa with the darkest color and bit into it, finding ground beef and bits of boiled egg. “If the other thing you brought is more of these then I’ll be one happy camper.”

“No, but I brought this for you. Caterina said it was your favorite color.” Joe pulled a blue rectangle out of his pocket and held it out. It was an iPhone case, peacock blue. “Do you still have your SIM card? If not, I also bought a new one along with the phone, but that’s at home.”

Nicky’s jaw dropped, food half-chewed. “You can’t be serious.”

Joe pushed the phone case at him. “But I am.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can. Yours got destroyed.”

“But—”

“How is anyone supposed to check up on you without one?” Joe gave him a joking wink. “Also, if you ever feel like wandering the nights alone again you could just give me a call so we can hang out.”

“I…” Nicky accepted the case, stunned. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That you’ll use it, also that you’re not backing out of my offer.”

“What offer?”

“To come stay with us, let me take care of you. Also the phone is at home.”

Nicky looked behind them, at where the sounds from the TV were making their way into the kitchen. He mumbled, “What does your wife think about this?”

Joe hummed, distracted. “What?”

“Layla’s mother, where is she?”

He snapped out of his dreamy daze. “She’s…she’s not with us anymore.”

Oh.

That was awful.

And here Nicky was, jealous of a dead woman.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He waved him off. “Come on, eat.”

Nicky obeyed, settling on the kitchen stool and going through his plate as Joe made him his coffee.

“So,” he began, trying to think of something to small-talk about. “Layla, huh? Like the Eric Clapton song?”

Joe frowned slightly at him, before letting out a slow “Oh!” of realization. “That’s a great song, but no.”

“Oh, that was a stupid question, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, my dad asked the same thing. Sort of.”

That made him feel a bit better. “Really? How?”

“That song was sort of based on _Majnoun Layla_ , the Middle Eastern _Romeo & Juliet_. It’s probably what popularized her name in the first place?”

“I heard of that!”

“Awful story, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s a tragedy.” He popped the last of his egg and beef pastry in his mouth and moved onto the second, cheese and spinach just like his first. “Why’d you name her after this story then if you dislike it?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then what?”

Joe slid his mug towards him and settled by him on a stool, sipping his very pale, certainly sugary coffee. “It’s a little on the nose. And silly.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

A small, humored huff blew over the rim of his mug as he sipped. “Okay, so, I really like the nighttime. I love the cool air, the quiet, and, most of all, the stars, seeing them and sometimes the planets, and Layla comes from the Arabic word for _night_.”

As if he wasn’t swoon-worthy enough? “That’s beautiful.”

He seemed surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, you put a lot of thought into it, unlike most parents.”

“Your parents didn’t do that?”

“No, we were named after relatives. Me for my dad’s grandfather and Catia for our maternal grandmother.”

“That’s some thought, you were named to honor their parents and it’s the thought that counts.” Joe tapped his mug against his. “I was named for my uncle, who died a few months before I was born.”

“Which side of the family?”

“My mother’s. He was the baby of their family, so I feel like she’s still not over it.” He then continued, speaking out the side of his mouth in mock-whispering. “Between you and me, I think she regrets it. I apparently share his demeanor and remind her too much of him sometimes, the name makes it worse to deal with.”

“Weirds her out, huh?”

“Very much so. It’s why I forwent a family name for Layla.”

“What family name would you have gone with?”

“Maybe my great-grandmother Zahra—which is her middle name.” Joe looked towards the living room, where the sound of laughter emerged alongside dialogue from the TV. “But no one here would have been able to pronounce it.”

“They’d say it Zara, right?”

“Yep. People here have issues with the letter H sometimes. It would have irked my dad if he hadn’t already lived in France, where the H is silent.”

“It’s the same in Italian.”

“Do you speak Italian?”

“It could be better, but yeah, I do. My nonna made sure of that, she doesn’t approve of how so many proud Italian-Americans can barely pronounce their own last names let alone speak the language.”

Joe huffed a brief laugh. “Your nonna would get on well with my mom. She insisted we all learn Arabic, both the standard version and her version, because she didn’t want us to end up like our dad.”

Nicky frowned, instantly concerned. “What’s wrong with your dad…?”

Joe rolled his eyes half-heartedly. “He’s one of those Tunisians whose French is better than his Arabic. He only switches to Arabic when something’s wrong, that’s how we know he’s upset.”

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t wondered or asked. But Nicky found that puzzlingly amusing, remembering how his grandmother would resort to Italian when she was mad.

Clearing his throat, attempting to be casual, he asked, “Oh, you’re Tunisian?”

“Half,” Joe said mid-sip. “Mom’s Egyptian. You?”

“Italian.”

“Yeah, but what kind? Or are you like third-generation?”

…he knew the difference?

“Second, I think. Genoese dad, Tuscan mom.”

“So, you’re as Italian as cheese-less pizza?”

He couldn’t resist snorting. “My grandma would love you for bringing that up. Like some pizzas have cheese, but not the kind they love here.”

“I’ll bet,” he said with a playful wag of his brows. “I actually enjoy it a lot more when I make it without.”

“You make pizza?”

Joe leveled him with a dull stare. “I’m a baker, Nicky.”

He felt his face flush. “Right. Stupid question.”

They both laughed lightly. Nicky rubbed the back of his neck, wondering what to do now.

“So, um, how’s Layla coping?”

Something about that question made Joe stiffen with a jerk, like he’d been shocked. “What do you mean?”

“She almost got run over.”

“Oh,” he said with what was strangely akin to relief. “I don’t think she’s processed that yet. Jessie, my mom and I kept trying to get her to talk about it but she just complained about us making her miss some cartoon on the Disney Channel.” Joe set his mug down, sagging against the counter, angling his body towards Nicky’s. “Between you and me, I don’t think the reality of it will sink in until years from now, so I don’t want to fuss. She seems more upset about seeing you get hit.”

Nicky had to blink a few times slowly as he registered that. “Me? Why?”

“Why? You came between her and some—” he checked the living room, lowering his voice as he continued furiously. “Some _fucking asshole son of a bitch_ was going to run her over and you stopped that from happening. You didn’t need to but you did.”

This should probably be the moment where he did the usual humble song and dance of ‘It was nothing’ and ‘You’d do the same’ but after figuring out he’d signed up to be canon fodder, flung abroad to die in the dunes, he had long come to terms with his fate. It just turned out a bit differently.

“I don’t know, I always expected that’s how I was going to go.”

Joe stared at him, eyes wide, mouth wobbling in a thin line.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck!_ He’d upset him.

Deciding to backtrack, he added, “I mean, what sent me home was effectively a car accident. Cheating death and all that. Like, _Final Destination_ , you know?”

That made things worse.

Joe looked like he was going to cry.

“Are you okay?” Joe breathed. “I know it’s obvious you’re in pain, but before that, are you okay?”

“I…” he trailed off, not finding it in him to put up a front. Especially since he’d found that there was no hope of him actually flirting with Joe enough to keep a lighthearted tone between them.

There was no use in acting like he was stable.

“No, I am not close to being okay.”

Joe moved before Nicky could react, enveloping him in a bear-hug that was considerate of his arm, holding him around the waist and shoulders.

He wanted to brush this off, slip away and lock his bedroom door and be pathetic in peace as he mourned a chance he was too stupid to think he had, but he was also so tired and feeling so weak.

Not putting up a fight against Joe or himself, he sank into the hug, letting himself be held up, his chin on Joe’s shoulder.

The press of his warm, firm body against him made him let out a pitiful sigh, and when he felt a hand move up and down his back in slow rubs he inhaled his scent. A spicy cologne, a minty body wash and the smell of laundry softener from his shirt. All soothing and clean, it made him want to burrow further into his arms and never let go.

“I got you,” Joe whispered. “You can tell me how you feel, whatever it is, I’ll listen.”

He really couldn’t. That would be the fastest way to make this moment end.

“Nicolò,” he said softly, thumping the space between his shoulder-blades, a touch so gentle it made his breath hitch. “Say something.”

Letting out a shaky breath, he started to cry.

He felt so pathetic. But he was going to indulge himself nonetheless.

Who knows? He might scare him off and never get this chance again.

“Let it all out,” Joe whispered to him, embrace tightening. “Better now than later.”

“What’s the difference?” he mumbled, sounding like his nose was clogged.

“The longer you hold it in the worse the eventual outburst is. Less of a crying fit and more of a breakdown.”

“And you have experience with that?”

Joe paused his soothing strokes. “Believe it or not, I do.”

Nicky sniffled. “I’ll take your word for it then.”

When they pulled apart, Joe gently wiped away from of Nicky’s tears with his thumb, watching him with tender eyes. “It’s official, you’re coming home with us so I can keep an eye on you.”

“Is that an order?”

“You spent the last few years taking orders, why stop now?”

“Ouch.”

Joe ruffled his hair, making it stick up. “I’m kidding. But, seriously, come with us. I think it would do us all some good to kind of go through the motions together.”

“What, like group therapy?”

“Something like that,” he said. “My mom recommends it.”

“Is what your mom says law?”

“That, and she’s a therapist.” Joe paused before adding. “We’re not her guinea pigs or anything, she just wants us all to make it out the other side with minimal damage.”

Nicky’s mouth was faster than his brain. “Too late.”

“You don’t want to at least try to get better?”

“I don’t think I can get better.”

“Have you tried?”

“No.”

“There’s your problem.”

Nicky rolled his eyes at him. “Yeah, that’s my problem.”

Joe scoffed, offended. “Would you take this seriously?”

“I’m as serious as it gets.”

“All the more reason for me to take you home and work with you on this. You’re not in a condition to be left alone.”

Nicky didn’t know if he found this touching or patronizing. A part of him found it too good to be true, that the guy who yelled at him during their first interaction was here asking him to sleepover at his place so they could, what? Hash things out?

“I’m fine.”

The dull stare from earlier was back, a spark of irritation at the depths of his eyes. “Don’t insult me, you were just telling me that you’re hopeless and suicidal.”

“I never said that.”

“Not plainly no, but it was implied.”

Now he could see the direct and grouchy man he’d first met, he’d been hidden behind the soft, sweet exterior of the past few encounters.

That didn’t stop him from trying to weasel his way out of this offer. “How do you know I wasn’t just being edgy?”

A brief, disbelieving chuckle shook his shoulders. “You’re too old to be edgy.”

Nicky wiped at his eyes, fighting off a bitter smile. “Fuck you, I’m twenty-five.”

“Twenty…” he trailed off, mouth hanging open. “Okay, I’m not gonna lie, that makes things worse.”

Offense itched the space between his brows. “Why worse? And how old did you think I was?”

“I don’t know, my age?”

“Which is?”

“I just turned thirty-two.”

That…made sense, he did have a daughter who looked to be around seven years-old. Any younger than that and he’d have been a college-aged dad. That meant she’d have born the year he enlisted…

Damn, that put things into perspective in regards to the other occupants of this apartment. Layla was a newborn, Caterina was in middle school and Nile was already out there.

Joe rolled his shoulders in an uncomfortable shrug. “It’s worse because you shouldn’t have given up so easily, not when you’re not even close to being middle-aged.”

Nicky allowed himself an obvious once-over, taking Joe’s body in a sweeping look, bottom to top. “Oh, because you’re middle-aged?”

“Sure feels like it some days. I don’t get to do much of what other guys my age do.”

Nicky had a not-so-fond flashback of his unit. The topics he had to put up him while putting up the front that he was just like them. “If you’re taking about hanging about, talking about sports, video games and the women you dated or would date, going out to bars and getting in brawls, then you’re not missing out on much.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Joe said in mock-consideration, laughing it off quick. “I mean, I don’t get time to think about or do much beyond what needs to be done, less about what I want to do.”

“Which is?”

Joe looked at him through his lashes, a move that made Nicky’s organs buzz. “I don’t know yet. That’s what I’m hoping to find out.”

That didn’t mean what Nicky’s thundering heart thought it meant. There was no implication, just his desperation.

“So, will you take me up on my offer, or do I have to keep wearing you down?”

He swallowed, throat dry. “What happens if you can’t?”

Joe came back in, teasing smile making his entire chest pound. “What makes you think I can’t?”

Lashes fluttering, flustered, his only reasonable response was a lame attempt. “I’m Italian, we’re very stubborn.”

“I’ve spent years dealing with Sébastien and the French are equally stubborn.” Joe winked at him playfully. “So, I think I can manage.”

Oh, how he’d love to be managed by him.

This was precisely why he couldn’t take his offer. He was growing more attracted to him by the minute and being in close quarters with him would drive him crazy.

“Yeah, weren’t you complaining about him not sharing his burdens or whatever?”

Joe groaned, hands coming up to cover his nose and mouth. “Don’t remind me. We almost had an argument but the subject got dropped after you, well…”

“Took one for the team?”

“Is that what they call it over there?”

They had been talking for longer than he’d thought, because the girls emerged, chatting, Nile carrying Layla who talked her ear off about something that she nodded along to with approval.

“I didn’t know Cartoon Network had anime,” Caterina said.

“It didn’t for a while then it got brought back,” Nile told her. “You heard of Adult Swim, right?”

“Isn’t that the channel _Rick and Morty_ is on? My ex talked about it all the time.”

“I think so? Did you like it? I’ve been meaning to check it out.”

“If you can get past the art-style then I guess it’s an interesting watch,” Caterina said.

“What’s _Rick and Morty?_ ” Layla asked.

“Something you have no business watching until you’re at least sixteen,” said Nile.

“Oh, you say that when you’re talking to her about anime, knowing what that’s full of?”

Nile rolled her eyes. “It’s not all T and A and fan-service, there is some unique stuff, a true experience, and some is just plain fun and cute.”

“Uh-huh, okay, weeabo.”

Nile looked strangely offended.

As they reached them, Layla piped up. “What’s T and A?”

The horrified face Nile made was worth redrawing in stylized form, all bulging eyes and lip creases.

He decided to spare her the agonizing attempts to escape a child’s persistent quest for an answer. “TA stands for Teacher’s Assistant.”

Both Nile and Caterina let out sighs of relief.

Layla wiggled until Nile set her down, skipping up to Nicky. “Why’re there teachers in cartoons?”

He caught Joe’s eye, found him watching them with his hand over his mouth and arm around his own waist, corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Because some shows are very educational, they teach you about a lot of things you can also take at school.” He decided to bring Joe into this, he looked way too comfortable leaving them to deal with this. “She watches _Sesame Street_ , right?”

“She watches it and the Muppets on YouTube, yeah.”

Damn, guess he was going to have to find another way to embarrass him then. Something to discourage the attempts to get a sleepover. “See? That technically makes Kermit the Frog a TA.”

“The real T and A on that show is Miss Piggy,” Caterina said out the side of her mouth, earning a slap on the arm from Nile.

“I love Kermit!” Layla said with a jump. “Do you have a favorite?”

A strain of nostalgia hit him, ringing a pleased huff from his tired body. “Yeah, the Swedish Chef. He always made me laugh the hardest.”

“Mine was Beaker,” said Joe. “Same reason. Well, until I realized I was just laughing at his suffering.”

“Didn’t someone say all comedy is rooted in suffering?” Nicky asked him.

“Is that a real thing or are you being edgy again?”

“I thought I was too old for that?”

“You sure talk like an old man who’s long-given up, so who knows?”

“Who was it who was just complaining about feeling middle-aged and never having any fun?”

“At least I want to have fun and not wallow in my room.”

Now he knew attraction had no damper on irritation. “Don’t you think you’re oversimplifying things a bit, Mr. Son of a Therapist?”

Nile groaned. “Could you two not flirt in front of us?”

That remark, however serious it may have been, sucked all the hints of humor Nicky had been regaining in that moment.

Was he flirting? Was he that obvious? As obvious as she had been about her crush on Sébastien?

Who was he kidding, he literally cried on Joe a few minutes ago.

Joe came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, making him grow stiff. “Guess if you want us to go flirt in private you’ll help Nicky pack his stuff.”

Caterina’s eyes practically flashed. “How much do you think he’ll need?”

“Catia!” Nicky shouted, outraged. “You going to ask me about this?”

“Nope, because I know what your answer is.” She started walking backwards, taking Nile with her. “And you need to get out of your room.”

“I’m injured, I can’t exactly go rock-climbing with you and your friends.”

“Then you need someone who can be there for you because Dad and I are a little too busy.”

He had begun to sweat, anxious for a way out of this. “What about you, Nile? Didn’t you say you wanted to hang out and watch _Fullmetal Jacket_?”

 _“Fullmetal Alchemist.”_ she corrected automatically. “Ooh, I’d love to host you but I’d be worse that Cat, leaving you home all day while I’m at work, it’s best we meet up at the VA then you come home with me for a bit, yeah?” Nile, the traitor, began walking backwards to catch up with Caterina. “And as much as I’d love to I bring you to work, Andy will have my hide if I do.”

This couldn’t be happening. It was enough he had to spend years sharing space with only men around his age, and while most had grown to disgust him, both physically and emotionally, others were still dangled before him like a carrot. Others like Keane, who noticed him looking and took advantage of it.

And Nicky didn’t know just what kind of feelings a nice guy like Joe would inspire, if just three encounters had him gripping his mind like this.

The girls were gone, leaving Layla looking up at them with curious eyes. “Why does Nile have to hide?”

Joe stared down at her, confused. “She isn’t hiding.”

“But she said Andy will make her hide.”

“Hide is another word for skin,” Nicky told her. “‘Have her hide’ means she’ll get in trouble.”

“Ooooh,” Layla said. “Like when Taita pulls on my ears like she’s going to take them?”

Joe rubbed at his own ear. “Something like that.”

“Your mom’s an ear-twister?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a cringe. “She used to lift me off my feet by my ear for being loud or rowdy.”

“You? Rowdy?”

“What, you think I was born with the patience of a saint?”

“You have to be patient to wait for dough to rise and then bake,” Nicky pointed out.

Joe nodded his approval. “And to deal with you trying to slip through my grasp like a greased pig.”

“Oink oink,” he deadpanned.

Layla giggled, a cute, small sound that made Nicky’s annoyance with her father subside instantly. “Are you coming with us?”

Now he had both their eyes on him, expectant, unblinking stares. “Yeah, Nicky, are you coming with us?”

“I…you sure you want me to?”

Layla nodded eagerly then hopped closer, hugging his good arm. “Yes! Robin and Louis just left and Taita and Jiddo are away, so come with us please.”

Meeting her eyes, Nicky’s refusal was caught in his throat like a lump of bread.

Son of a bitch. He set her up to this didn’t he, knowing Nicky couldn’t say no to her?

“Okay, I’ll come home with you,” Nicky gave in. “How long am I staying, three days?”

“Days?” Joe patted his chest fondly. “Don’t be silly, you’re staying til you heal up.”

Caught between Joe’s rock-hard body and the place between Layla’s arms, Nicky had no choice. “Sure, however long you see fit.”

Layla whopped, jumping up and down. “You can have a sleepover with Daddy.”

Not the kind he originally had in mind. And that fact alone was going to make this hell.

Nile and Caterina emerged with his backpack, a suitcase and a plastic bag of what appeared to be his share of the bathroom products and he knew the deal was sealed.

After kissing them all goodbye, the girls waved them off, Joe leading them out. As the door shut, Nicky gave them his best savage glare.

They reached the ground floor, and headed out to Joe’s car, a blue hatchback whose trunk opened by itself to receive his belongings.

But once Layla took his hand, all her fingers curling around two of his, his anxiety and anger dipped back beneath the surface of his thoughts. He found himself looking down at her with a small smile. “Hi there.”

“Hi!” and with the tactlessness only a child could make endearing, she followed it up with “Can you draw Disney princesses?”

“Lily!” Joe scolded from over his shoulder, carrying all Nicky’s things effortlessly. “Ignore her.”

“It’s fine,” he assured him. “If you show them to me, I can draw them for you, yeah.”

“I’m warning you,” Joe said. “There are no take-backs from that offer.”

“Just like I could’t get out of your offer to be my butler?”

Joe first settled Layla in the backseat then rushed to open the passenger side for Nicky, even putting the seatbelt in for him when they settled in.

“Who said anything about butler?”

“You did, when you insisted on bringing me to ‘take care of me’.”

Joe opened his mouth to object then closed them and his eyes. “I did. I’ll honor that.”

“No takesies-backsies, Daddy,” Layla said.

“Yeah,” he agreed smugly. “No takesies-backsies, Joseph.”

“Youssef.” He revved up the car and began backing out.

“How’d you get Joe from Youssef?”

“Same way you get Daisy from Margaret, it’s a translation.” Joe then wondered “How do you get Bill from William, or Dick from Richard?”

“You pay him upfront.”

Joe hit the breaks abruptly, making Layla let out a comical yelp and Nicky try his hardest to fight off strong memories of the Jeep flipping over.

Trying to steady his breathing as he checked on her at the back. Finding her seemingly unfazed by this, he focused back on Joe, whose brows were angling up inwards.

Starting to slowly drive again, he mumbled. “Youssef is the Arabic version of Joseph. That’s where Joe came from.”

He had such an expressive face. He must be a terrible liar.

Nicky wanted to draw all his rubber-faced expressions, savoring each tip and angle of his features and all the lights reflected in his dark eyes.

“You, uh, ready to head home or did you want to stop by and get some stuff you need first?” Joe asked. “Any dietary restrictions? Allergies?”

“No, I’ll eat whatever you make,” Nicky said. “I know it’ll be great.”

Joe flashed him a small, yet dazzling smile. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together, you’ll see.”

He was so screwed. And not in the way he’d initially intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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	5. Chapter 5

During their first civil talk, Joe had mentioned that he had gone to a private school and had violin lessons, so Nicky had gleamed that his family were well-to-do. The class-level went a bit further up when he saw where they were taking him, then it leaped up another few degrees when they reached their home.

It was a duplex with its own driveway, bordered by clean lawns with a set of fruit trees, and large windows.

He followed them in and up in a daze, taking in the spacious, neat layout and marble floors and kitchen countertops that had to be freezing in the winter, a small selection of Persian rugs, and an ovular mahogany dinner table, taking the half-spiral staircase up to where the guest bedrooms were.

Joe dropped his things on the bed of the first room to the right, a suite more than anything with a king-sized bed and open windows that overlooked a backyard with more trees. It looked like a place a group would save up and rent for a weekend retreat, not something you lived in.

Just as the cogs and wheels of envy and resentment began turning in his mind, Joe started unpacking his things for him, neatly folding and placing his clothes in the drawers adjacent to the bed and hanging up jackets and certain shirts in a matching wardrobe.

He reached out just as Joe’s hand dipped back in the messily-packed bag. “Oh, you don’t have to do that—”

His hand came over Joe’s, palm sliding over his knuckles. Joe quickly turned his hand up under his, holding it. “Really? You’re objecting me to helping you settle in?”

Nicky was too busy staring at their hands to have a good retort. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s a bit much, don’t you think? I can at least do this, nothing’s broken, right?”

Joe gave him a disapproving look that kept him in his place by the bed. “You’re not delaying your recovery by using your arm, okay? That’s why you’re here.”

Nicky held his gaze in a challenging move. “How am I supposed to do things like wash my hair and change my clothes then?”

“Call me and I’ll help you.”

Not fucking likely.

“That’s excessive.”

“You said I was your butler, and I’m complying.” Joe took out the shoes, all two pairs that he gave disapproving looks, and set them outside. “She didn’t pack you slippers, you can borrow a pair of mine.”

“I was joking.”

“Kinda hard to tell, with you being so emotive and all.”

Nicky glared at him. Joe’s smug smile broadened in response. 

“Why are my shoes outside?”

“We take our shoes off by the door so they don’t track dirt and mud and God knows what else inside. I usually keep slippers by there, but I didn’t want the entryway to be cluttered.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Good to know.”

Joe started on the next bag, miscellaneous items Caterina had stuffed in there that ranged from his computer, tablet and stylus to his painkillers, sleeping pills and multivitamins to a dog-eared copy of Homer’s _Iliad_ that earned raised brows.

“What?”

“When did you read this?”

“During my time off. Back there.”

Joe let out a soft _huh_ and took the bag of toiletries to the ensuite bathroom. Nicky trailed after him. “What?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t take you for the type that likes poetry.”

“What type did you take me for then?”

“I don’t know, Tom Clancy and Lee Child books?”

“I wasn’t always this humorless if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Joe met his eyes in the mirror. “That’s not—I wasn’t saying that you’re—I’m just surprised, is what I’m saying. It’s not often I meet people who have the patience for this sort of writing.”

Still bristling, Nicky tried to at least give the air of being unbothered. “It can get a bit tedious at times. Sometimes I just want it to get to the point.”

“And other times?”

“Other times I just enjoy the pretty phrasings and how much inspiration it must have taken to put such ugly circumstances into beautiful stanzas.”

Joe finished arranging the sink counter and turned back to him, pleased. “Gave you some comfort abroad then?”

“Yeah, the similarities weren’t lost on me. Only I had no option of stubbornly staying in my tent like Achilles and the guy I thought to be my Patroclus left me to die.”

After the words left his mouth, he let out all the air in his lungs with a wheeze.

He’d never said it out loud. That Keane had come all the way to survey the wreckage of his Jeep and didn’t even make the effort to pull him out of it. Almost like he was glad to be rid of him.

As he had begun to sink back into that miserable spiral, Joe caught him unawares again with a hug. “Whoever he was, fuck that guy.”

He resisted a quip of “I did, that’s the problem,” and let himself enjoy being held for the second time that day.

“Careful, keep doing this and I might get used to it,” he mumbled against his shoulder.

“Would that be so bad?” Joe asked.

Nicky didn’t have a concise response, so he stayed quiet. Savoring.

The sound of flapping slippers on wooden floors announced Layla’s arrival. “Are we going out again today?”

Joe pulled back first and Nicky found her watching them with curious eyes and wanted to leap back in shame. He had been enjoying that hold a bit too much.

“No, you are released,” Joe said, shooing her out. She stomped out with a relieved “Yay!”

Nicky followed them out of the room, watching her hop down the stairs with her father heckling her about ‘falling and landing on her teeth’. “What’s going on?”

“She wants to hop back in her jammies and watch TV.” Joe kept his eyes on her til she reached the ground floor. “I don’t know whether she’s shaping up to be a homebody or if our outings are just that boring that she itches to avoid them.”

“No one likes following their parents around the supermarket if that’s what you mean by ‘outings’.”

“Good point.” Joe leaned on the bannister, regarding him curiously. “What would you suggest to keep her entertained outside then?”

“Have you asked her that?”

“I would but I know I’ll get some variation of ‘I want chicken nuggets’ and I don’t to put myself in the position where I’d have to drag her away from a fast-food joint.”

“You too good for junk food, rich boy?”

Joe scrunched up his face in feigned offense. “No, I just don’t trust that what McDonald’s gives us to be actual chicken, or that those uniform fries are real potatoes. Same goes for the rest. Also, I bake all the carbs we could ever need.”

“I don’t know, I grew up eating all that stuff and I’m fine.”

Joe gave him a pointed skeptical look. 

He reached out and shoved him lightly, wringing a trilling laugh from him. “Can’t fault me for wanting a healthy kid.”

It struck Nicky that perhaps her mother had died so young because of something health-related. And now he felt like shit.

“No, I can’t.”

Joe reached out to lightly tug at Nicky’s arm, leading him down. “Speaking of which, let’s make dinner.”

“Am I going to help, Jeeves, or will I just stand there and salivate over the smell?”

“Stand there and salivate,” he said, unbuttoning the rest of his red shirt, leaving him in a tight, white T-shirt that had Nicky questioning why a baker was in such good shape.

From the living room behind them, he could hear the TV. Layla was watching a CGI cartoon whose dialogue was entirely in French.

“What’s that?”

“ _Miraculous Ladybug_ , she’s obsessed with it,” Joe said, washing the rice in the sink. “It’s like a superhero show, interesting concept.”

Nicky leaned against the counter, watching him move about while keeping an eye on the TV. The animation style was smooth, nice character designs, he last remembered a trend in kids’ shows where the designs were repetitive, lazy or even ugly. 

He’d once toyed with the idea of drawing a comic geared at kids, containing all the unfiltered fantasy he could muster without having to worry about being ‘grounded’ to appease cynical adults.

In the center of the kitchen was an island that Joe quickly filled with a cutting board, bowls and food. With quick efficiency, the pot was on the stove to boil, potatoes were peeled, various vegetables, onions and chicken breasts where chopped and spice bottles were brought out. 

Half the stuff got placed in the water with generous helpings of what looked to be turmeric and cloves. Covering it, Joe then took out a pan and dipped some fancy-looking olive oil into it to fry the potatoes and eggplants. 

To break the silence, Nicky asked, “You guys all speak French then?” 

“French, English and Arabic,” Joe said with a heavy sigh. “Though each one of us has different levels of fluency.”

Nicky was intrigued by that concept. “Like your dad?”

“Yep. His French is arguably the best, his Arabic is second to Jessie, who I don’t think really remembers how to read it,” he said out the side of his mouth in a disapproving cringe. “She’s texted me in it a few times, never short of at least eight typos.”

Nicky had to laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Uh-huh. She now resorts to the online version of it that’s popular with our generation. Basically writing down your dialect in Latin letters and substituting missing sounds with numbers.”

“Numbers?”

“Yep. I can show you what I mean later, it’s a little hard to grasp otherwise.”

“I’ll bet.” He came closer, leaning back against the island as he watched him work. “What’s the proficiency level across your family in Arabic?”

“I’m okay, I’m better at speaking it than reading it. But that’s mostly because written Arabic is almost it’s own language, differ from the version we speak—or versions. They vary depending on where you’re from,” Joe rambled, focused on frying the vegetables. “Our mom is the best at it, which is to be expected, she lived most of her life in Egypt and insist on viewing the Internet in Arabic so she doesn’t forget it, the same way our dad has all his devices in French.”

“My grandma has her phone set to Italian, it can be a little confusing sometimes when she hands it to me to get or fix something for her.”

“Same experience here. Makes me go cross-eyed.” Joe reached a hand behind him. It took him a minute to realize he was asking for some kind of high-five. Low-five?

He lightly tapped his palm against Joe’s. “So, it’s your mom, then you, then your dad, then your sister?”

“No, Adam was better than me, he took after our mom’s academic side and would read huge books in Arabic.”

“Is Adam your brother?”

Joe stiffened for a second then relaxed. “Yeah. Eldest.”

“And in French I’m guessing it’s your dad, then your brother?”

“Dad, Adam, Mom, me, Lily then Jessie.”

Nicky couldn’t help the impressed face he made towards Layla, who was vocally reacting to what was going on on TV, talking to the characters. “Layla is above your sister?”

“Jessie was kinda stubborn about not wanting to learn French, she kept arguing that there was no point because where would she use it here?” Joe had finished frying the vegetables and peeked in on the chicken. “She would have had a point if she’d learned Spanish instead. But I feel like it’s just her being spiteful. Dad will speak to her in French and she’ll respond in English and it drives him mad.”

He snorted. “Sounds like such a snotty teenager thing to do.”

“It really does. I suspect she knows a lot more than she’s letting on, because our dad exclusively spoke it at home,” Joe continued, fishing the chicken out of the pot and layering it and the fried vegetables into another one. “He’d come home from work and say ‘I’ve spoken enough English for today’ and insist on practicing with us because he noticed that while Adam was growing up that his fluency was limited to reading rather than speaking.”

“How much older is Adam than you and Jessie?”

“I’m five years younger and twelve years older.”

“Twelve! Jesus!”

Joe glanced at him, dimples emerging in a small smile. “Yeah, Jessie was a surprise.”

“I’m only four years older than Catia and I feel like we have a gap between us, what’s it like with twelve?”

He made an exhausted noise as he dumped the rice in after the chicken and vegetables. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m her uncle more than her brother.”

Last thing he poured was the yellowy chicken stock from the boiling pot, placing the lid then lowering the fire to a simmer.

“If you feel that way, how does Adam feel with seventeen years?”

“I don’t know.” The smile shrunk as he awkwardly moved past Nicky to get plates and start setting the table. Nicky followed by searching for the cutlery drawer.

What he found looked to be genuine silverware judging by the iridescent beginnings of rust around some of the handles. It was hard not to be a bit resentful of all the nice things in this house.

“Couldn’t imagine being almost twenty years older than my sibling.”

“My dad was the youngest among his, his eldest brother had kids near his age. I actually think my dad’s nephew is my mom’s age.”

“Wow,” Nicky said slowly. “That’s trippy. Why such a huge gap?”

“Think my grandparents just kept having more the second kids got old enough to be independent. Before that people would just have as many kids as possible until the woman hit menopause. My grandma was one of eleven.”

“My grandma was one of seven, most are back in Italy so I only know of her two sisters here.” Nicky gave that fact a good thought. “No, wait, only one, Flavia, is here. Filomena is in Canada.”

“They all have F names?”

“Now that you mention it, yeah.” Nicky went around the table, bordering the cutlery around the plates Joe set. “Filippa, Francesco, Filomena, Flavia, Flora, Fabio, and Fortunato.”

Joe whistled, impressed. “That is some theme-naming dedication. Which one is your grandma?”

“Flora.”

“Pretty.” Joe returned to the kitchen fast and returned with glasses and a serving spoon. “Did you say you have an uncle Fortunato, like in the _Cask of Amontillado_?” 

“Like that, though I hope he didn’t meet that fate.”

Delight sprung through Joe’s eyes. “One of the scarier fates in classic literature.”

“I went through a Classics phase a while back, I feel like, in comparison, it’s not.”

“Classics phase, is that where the _Iliad_ comes in?”

Heat rose to his face and he looked away without thinking. “Yeah, I guess that’s what started it.”

The true reason he first developed an interest in the _Iliad_ was when he’d stumbled upon a list of ‘Queer Characters in Fiction’ online that referred to Achilles and Patroclus as lovers. He immediately sought out the book, luckily found it in his school library and buckled down to read it, heart pounding incredibly loud. He struggled through adjusting to the writing style, but he ended up enjoying the story somewhat. It took a few more rereads to appreciate the writing itself and catch on to the events of the story.

It didn’t change the fact that Achilles effectively cheated with women, and they both died at the end. Delving further into Greco-Roman myth, beginning to draw what Caterina called fan-art, and developing a fixation with Renaissance art had his grandmother and father believing he was getting in touch with their history and culture. While that was a part he’d later come to connect with and appreciate, it was mostly an excuse to stare at and draw depictions of beautiful men. 

Sure, he later diversified, learning to draw women after finding people mocking Renaissance artists’ inability to do so, then hearing the same thing once he ventured into comic books, and after that were animals and mythological creatures. Caterina always asked for some kind of equine, a unicorn, a pegasus or a hippocampus—a literal sea-horse. 

That train of thought led him to wondering, “Why is it called a hippocampus?”

“Because it looks like a seahorse,” Joe said, sounding just as distracted, checking on the food.

Their eyes met and he could see his own awareness seeping into Joe.

“Wait, what?” Joe asked. “How did we get from Classics to brain anatomy?”

“Brain?”

“Yeah, you said hippocampus, like this part.” Joe tapped the side of his head. “It has something to do with memory, I remember that much.”

“I was thinking more of the half-fish, half-horse creatures from Greek mythology.”

“Like a literal seahorse?”

“Yes, that.”

“Oh, don’t mention that to Lily, she’ll immediately ask for one.”

“Doesn’t she know they’re not real?”

“She’s just turned seven, she thinks dragonflies are just tiny dragons.”

“To be fair, the name dragonfly is misleading, they look nothing like dragons.”

“You sound miffed.”

“I am, I once saw a whole bunch of them, chased them until I managed to touch one and I was so disappointed.” Nicky joined him by the stove, breathing in the smell of the cooking food. “I want to sue for false advertisement.”

Joe giggled. _Giggled._ “I’ll file with you for red pandas. From what angle are those pandas?”

“I think a bigger offender is the catfish. Why would you compare that thing to cats?”

That made his giggling escalate. “Because they kinda have whiskers. Prairie dogs are worse, they’re not even canids.” He retrieved a large, round serving plate from a cupboard above Nicky’s head, coming so close Nicky held his breath. “Sounds like you’re taking that personally. You a cat person?”

“Yeah, we used to have cats—well my family still has cats, I currently don’t.”

“Got any pictures?”

“I would, but, my phone…”

Joe’s eyes grew wide and he jetted out of the kitchen. “I almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?” he called after him, voice half-obscured by the background noises from Layla’s cartoon. The titular Miraculous Ladybug was fighting a very colorful villain with what appeared to be a yo-yo.

Emerging from his room in a rush, shuffling his slippers, carrying a pair for Nicky. 

“Oh, thanks. Think they’ll fit?”

Joe’s eyes flit to their feet then back up, almost giddy. “Think we’re around the same size, yeah.”

As Nicky slipped his feet into the tan slippers, soft and cozy on the inside, Joe held something up to his face.

It was an iPhone.

Nicky blinked at it. “Uh…”

“It’s yours.”

“No, it’s not.”

Joe snorted, the bridge of his nose wrinkling. “I mean, it’s to replace the one that got crushed.”

“Oh!” He hoped he could pass the climbing flush off on the heat of the kitchen. “I can’t take this.”

“We’re going to have this conversation again?” Joe took Nicky’s hand and placed the phone in it. “I got your SIM card from your sister earlier, just log into your iCloud if you have it.”

His jaw was wide open now, staring after Joe as he returned to the food, only snapping out of it when he placed the plate over the pot and flipped it, dumping the contents onto it.

When he removed the pot, the food was revealed to be a short, conical figure of yellow, partly-caramelized rice, topped with chicken and vegetables in a floral layout. 

“What is that?” he asked in awe. “How did you do that?”

Wiping sweat from his brow, Joe appeared confused. “This? This is _maqlouba_ , it’s a quick, easy meal my grandma always made us when she visited.”

“Quick and easy? I’d hate to see what’s time-consuming and complex.”

“Doesn’t your grandma make her pasta from scratch or something?” Carrying the dish to the table, Joe whistled to his daughter and said something in French. She paused the episode and skipped up to them, the plastic of her glittery slippers flapping on the floor. He half-believed she was making that noise on purpose and couldn’t help smiling a little.

“Sometimes she does, yeah. Usually doesn’t have the energy for it thought.”

“Eh, I find that if you don’t know how to do something it just looks hard on principle,” Joe said, ruffling her hair as he passed her for the fridge. “Do you drink anything specific, juice, soda, or is water fine?”

“Water’s fine.”

He returned with a glass jug. “Oh, good. We’ve been having this debate on whether we should be having drinks with meals.” As he moved past him, he whispered in his ear. “Some of her friends, their moms let them drink soda or juice with every meal. It’s no wonder kids are getting cavities earlier and earlier these days.”

“My dad was one of those parents, he just let us eat anything.”

Joe pulled out his chair for him. “Is that an endorsement?”

In any other circumstance, Nicky would have been swooning. Being fussed over and having dinner cooked for him by a handsome man was a fantasy that had kept him sane for years. It only half-came true.

“It’s a sad fact. He was busy and when our grandma was at work we’d be left to our own devices.”

After pushing Layla’s seat in, he sat at the head of the table between them. “What happened to your mother?” He stopped midway through raising the serving spoon from its plate, steam rising in undulating waves from the food. “You don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry.”

A rudely curious part of Nicky wanted to ask for an exchange of stories. That he’d tell him what happened with his mother if they told him what happened to Layla’s.

“It’s okay.” He glanced at Layla, who must have been sitting on a cushion, edge of the table at her chest, elbows on the surface, gripping her knife and fork, eyes on the food. It seemed that she wasn’t paying attention, so he wouldn’t have to mince words. “She left.”

Joe’s face was too expressive for its own good, the confusion and concern back in full force. “Left as in…?”

“Got fed up with life here and went back to Italy.”

“Oh.” That clarification seemed to put him at ease, he served Layla’s helping first then Nicky’s second. When she began to eat he made a warning noise “Ah!”

She stopped. “What?”

“What did Taita say about starting first?”

Layla looked down. “That it’s rude.”

“It’s fine, I don’t care. Really, I don’t.” Nicky raised his spoon. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Nick, I’m trying to teach her table manners here. If I let one time slide she’ll be back to eating with her hands in front of my mother.” The face he made, while comical, had a story behind it, probably had included a lecture.

“Just one time makes a difference?” Nicky couldn’t really remember being a child, or what Caterina was like, but his grandmother was inconsistent, alternating between firm mother-figure and the grandmotherly urge to spoil.

“Child-rearing is a job just like any other,” Joe said, softly nudging her elbows off the table. “You can both eat now.”

The chicken and vegetables were buttery, the rice smelled so good and the taste of the spices and chicken stock it had cooked in was melting on his tastebuds. 

Humming approvingly, he closed his eyes as he savored. “What did you say this was?”

When he opened his eyes, he found Joe watching him, looking almost relaxed. “ _Maqlouba_ , it literally means _upside down_.”

“Superior to the pineapple upside-down cake.”

Joe puffed up his cheeks like he was miming vomit. “Now that is something I’ll never bake.”

“How come?” Layla asked, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork.

Without looking, Joe reached over and started cutting up the chicken for her. “I don’t care what anyone says, pineapple and mangoes don’t belong in cake, only in juices, smoothies and fruit salads.”

“I agree. They’re already sweet enough on their own, the last thing they need is a glaze or whipped cream.”

“Oh, thank God! I’ve been arguing with Sébastien about that. I’m expanding our menu on a thematic level, I’m not going throw random stuff in to suit trends.” Joe gasped in relief, reaching his knife and fork into Nicky’s plate. “Need help? I forgot to cut some parts smaller.”

“I—thank you.” Joe had already gone ahead and split up his chicken. Nicky was caught between embarrassment at being this useless and feeling bad for how much he was being accommodated. “You don’t need to.”

“I already did for Her Highness, it’s only fair.”

“Why Highness?” Layla piped up, food half-chewed. 

“No talking with your mouth full.” Joe shut her mouth with his finger under her little chin. “Highness because you’re my princess.”

Adorable. They were adorable. 

She swallowed her mouthful. “Then who’s Majesty?”

“That’d be your daddy,” Nicky responded, digging into his plate.

Joe made a spluttering noise, covering his mouth. “No.”

“Why not?”

“What would I be the king of?” he said dismissively, pushing his food around his plate.

“That’s up to you. Or up to her.” Nicky lowered his gaze, addressing Layla. “What are you the princess of?”

“Stars!”

“All the stars or one in particular?”

She considered that thought, tapping her teeth on the prongs of her fork. “I don’t know, how many are there?”

“Billions.”

“Billions!” She gasped, looking to her father. “What’s a billion?”

“Much more than a million. You can be a princess of certain stars. Like a constellation,” Joe said, stroking her hair. “You remember what those are?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Can they be lilies?”

“I don’t think there are flower constellations?” he looked to Nicky for confirmation, who rolled his shoulders in uncertainty. 

“There are stargazer lilies,” he offered. “I used to love drawing them in class.”

“Stargazers!” her eyes grew wide with wonder. “We do that!”

“You do?”

“Yeah, we have a space on the roof we watch the stars on,” Joe said.

“We have a kaleidoscope,” she added, pronouncing it as _collide-escope_.

“Telescope,” Joe corrected. “Which is an easier word than _kaleidoscope_ , I don’t know how she keeps mixing them up.”

“Catia used to do that, making words a lot harder than they actually were. She just thought they sounded better that way.”

Layla tapped the table, getting their attention. “I want to see stargazing lilies.”

That was it. He had to get her some now. “I’ll show you.”

“When!”

“Oh, now you did it.” Joe patted him on the arm. “She’s not going to let that go.”

“Good, I’ll need her to remind me. I forget what day it is a lot.”

Layla beamed at him, chubby cheeks shutting her eyes, laughter lines just her father’s wrinkling their corners. He felt the tension he’d been carrying all day unwind.

Dinner wrapped up quick, in between bites and idle chatting about flowers and Joe experimenting with adding floral and leaf designs to his pastries. He talked with such detail and focus it made Nicky remember how he used to fixate on his art, how particular he was, how different pencils and pens were for specific elements.

Watching him speak, rubber-faced and with talkative hands, the cogs in his mind began turning, envisioning parchment sketches of Joe in baroque poses…

Layla pushing back her chair loudly snapped him out of it. He stood so fast he knocked his chair back and swore, only to realize she was still in the room.

Panic gripping his heart, he reset his chair, babbling. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Nicky trailed after him, wringing his hands, already sweating. “No, it’s not fine. I haven’t been around kids in ages but I should have been more careful.”

“Nicky, I’m serious, it’s fine.” Joe pointed the empty plate out at the living room, where she had resumed watching her show. “Could have been worse, Jessie once said ‘motherfucker’ in front of her.”

He hiccuped. “Oh, _God._ ”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing she hasn’t repeated it since.” Joe quickly filled up the washing machine. “Word of advice, next time do it in Italian. If she repeats that at school neither of us will get in trouble.”

“Will do.”

“Wanna drink something? I usually take tea after meals.”

“What kind of tea?”

“Uhhh, we have—” He opened a cupboard and displayed the selection. “I’m taking flavored black tea, but we have mint tea, and green tea, and a bunch of other tisanes.”

“Tisanes?”

“You know, herbal tea. Stuff that’s not actually tea, like chamomile.”

He pronounced it _ka-moh-meel_ , similar to the Italian _camomilla_. Nicky didn’t know why that pleased him.

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll trust your choices,” Nicky said. “Besides, we’re coffee-drinkers, only drink tea when we’re sick with lemon and honey, so this should be a new experience.”

The spellbinding dimples resurfaced briefly as he glanced at him, pleased.

“Lemon and honey is magic for a sore throat,” he agreed, taking out two mugs, the only mismatched things he’d seen in this house so far. One was white and had _Property of the U.S.S. Enterprise_ encasing a black silhouette of the spaceship and the other was shaped like a blue police box—the spaceship from _Doctor Who_?

“You like novelty mugs?”

“They’re a weakness,” Joe sighed, turning on the kettle. “Every time we’re out and I see one I have to get it. It’s a real problem. Sugar?” He raised a bowl of brown sugar cubes. “Do you want white sugar? I have some for cooking.” He stopped then added. “We don’t like the way it smells in drinks.”

“Is that the royal we, Your Majesty?” he found himself teasing.

Joe’s reaction seemed akin to choking, Nicky could have sworn his ears were turning red. “No, I think it’s genetic. My dad, Lily and I all drink with brown sugar.”

“Adam, Jessie and your mom don’t? An even split?”

“Adam didn’t like sugar much, he drank his coffee black.” Joe stuck his tongue out to emphasize disgust.

Nicky felt like commenting on the past tense of _‘Adam didn’t’_ but decided to let it slide for now. “Again, whatever you’re having,” he said. “And two cubes.”

Joe complied. “Same.”

“You into Sci-Fi then?”

“Only the fun kind.”

“What do you mean?”

Joe offered him the _Star Trek_ mug. “Some of it is just depressing, not making me look forward to the future. Or to discovering aliens.”

“Beats the excitement about science, doesn’t it? If everything leads to shit circumstances then what’s the point?”

“Tell me about it.” He jerked his head, urging him to follow. “But if it’s popular then that means people are into it for a reason.”

“Like tropical fruits in cakes.”

Joe shuddered so violently Nicky had to laugh.

They settled in a spot past the living room, on the other side of the kitchen. A breakfast nook, Nicky thought it was called. The energetic noises from the ladybug cartoon clear but not overpowering.

“So, tell me, what do you watch?” Joe asked.

“I haven’t watched anything in ages,” he admitted, sniffing his tea. Black tea with a hint of what smelled like peach. “And not since I came back.”

“Maybe you should binge-watch something, help take your mind off stuff, and fill the well.”

“Fill the well?”

“Creatively,” he explained. “It can help with artist’s block to watch stuff, it can inspire, unbury old ideas. I do that with cooking and baking shows.”

“How do you know I have artist’s block?”

Joe raised the blue mug, hiding half his face behind it. “Your sister told me.”

Defensive tension prickled under his skin. “You two gossiping behind my back?”

“No! It’s not like that.” He raised a hand, shaking it. “I just asked about you. Wanted to know more about you. And she was very forthcoming.”

In any other context, he’d be excited. That the guy he was interested had asked about him. 

“I bet she was,” he said grouchily, thinking of how she had practically shoved him out of their apartment.

“Did I overstep?” 

“No, no. I’m just…I don’t know.” Nicky sighed, palming his face. “People keep talking about me rather than to me. I’m kind of tired of it.”

“That’s a shame, because you’re fun to talk to,” Joe said.

Nicky peeked at him through his fingers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “We’ve managed to have some interesting conversations. I can’t remember if I’ve ever bounced off someone this easily.”

He straightened up, resting back in his seat to properly look at Joe. “Me neither.”

“So, talk to me,” he offered. “Anything you want, I’m all ears.”

“Are you?”

Joe tucked his fingers behind his ears, sticking them out from under his hair, making Nicky chuckle.

“Okay, recommend me something to ‘fill the well’ and tell me why I should watch it.”

“You sure want me to do that?” Joe asked. “Because I’ll talk for hours. People have gotten up and left me behind for that.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious!”

“Give me an example then.”

“Um, so, the past year or so I’ve tried going on dates—”

Nicky’s chest seized at the word ‘date’.

“—and whenever I’m asked something like ‘so, what are you into?’ and ‘tell me about yourself’ I get nervous or excited or both and I start rambling,” he explained, gesturing animatedly. “The last one I bothered going on, I kept talking about one episode of _Star Trek_ and the themes and implications of it.”

“No,” Nicky gasped in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

Joe cringed with embarrassment. “Yes, yes, I did.”

“What happened?”

“She got up and left.”

He couldn’t smother the snort that escaped him. “What episode was it?”

“You sure you want to do this? I’m in my own house and will be too comfortable to hold myself back.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Nicky sipped his tea, the smell was sweeter than the taste, but it was nice. “Go on, I’ll tell you stop if I feel like it.”

“You promise?”

Nicky held out his pinky. “Promise.”

Hooking his pinky with Nicky’s own, looking right into his eyes, Joe let out a long breath then began with “So! There was this episode in _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , you know it?”

“Captain Picard,” Nicky acknowledged. “Watched a few episodes out of order with my dad growing up.”

“You know the characters?”

“Most of them.”

“Okay, so. This episode, _The Measure of a Man_ , was about whether Data had the right to object to being taken apart by an engineer who wanted to recreate him because he was an android and, supposedly, not capable of complex thought, right?”

“Right.”

“Wrong! Data has a personality and feelings, somewhat, he was in love with another character. And he was afraid the process of studying his ‘brain’ would damage the memories he wants to keep. But when Data refuses, Maddox asks Starfleet to interfere because since he’s not a sentient being that makes him property, and it looks like that’s it until Picard objects and they have a hearing!”

The way he got so into this topic, lips moving fast as he got worked up and flushing a darker shade of pink, dragging Nicky’s attention to his teeth. 

He wondered what those lips felt like…

“—and the judge makes Riker act as Maddox’s attorney and it’s awful, because he’s Data’s friend and he has to argue against him being, you know, a person! He even turns him off to emphasize he’s a machine.” 

Joe was getting worked up by this, there was a faint wetness to his eyes. 

“You cried the first time you watched this episode, didn’t you?” he asked him.

“Guilty as charged,” he said. “But I was also, like, nine. I couldn’t help it.”

“I cried watching _Lord of the Rings_ , when Gandalf fell into the pit. It didn’t help that my grand-uncle, who was the closest I had to grandpa, had just died.”

Joe’s hand came over his, stopping his breath briefly in his chest. “Aww, I’m sorry you had to relive that.”

Feeling indulgent, he turned his hand up under his like he had before, feeling their palms together. “It’s okay. I barely remember him most days. Just a few glimpses.”

“I never met my grandfathers. Both died before my parents met.”

“That sucks. What happened?”

“They were the product of a generation that didn’t take care of themselves at all,” he said with a heavy sigh. “And by that I mean they smoked like chimneys, had shit diets, barely moved and one of them drank daily. Complications had to come up.”

Nicky was a little puzzled. “Your family drinks…?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. My dad does, occasionally though. Doesn’t want to end up like my Jiddo. And Jessie definitely does with her friends,” he made a disapproving face. “I think she had a fake ID but I can’t prove it.”

“Your mom and brother?”

“Adam, yes. Mom, no. She thinks it’s disgusting, she’s probably more turned off by it because of a lot of her patients have trouble with alcohol.”

“Patients? Oh, she’s a shrink, right.”

Joe bared his teeth. “Don’t use that word around her, you’ll get an earful about the long and respectable history of psychology and the benefits of therapy.”

Sounded like his mother would get along great with Caterina. “Am I going to be around your mom?”

“Yeah, my parents want to meet you,” Joe said a-matter-of-factly. 

He frowned. “Why?”

Joe’s eyes flit to the living room, where Layla sat.

“Oh.” Nicky tried flexing the fingers of his left arm, moving the sore, bruised muscles. “You told them about that?”

“Hard not to. It’s not often something this scary happens. Not since Adam—” he stopped so abruptly Nicky was convinced he had bitten his tongue. “My mom called us for her daily check-in after the accident and I was kind of having a breakdown so I told her everything.”

“Jesus, why? Layla wasn’t hurt was she?”

The initial overwhelmed tears in Joe’s eyes came to fruition as he let out a shuddering breath. “No, but she could have been. She could have been broken or killed, all because I wasn’t watching her and the boys like I was supposed to.”

This had gotten so heavy all of the sudden. He had to figure out a way to lighten the mood.

Shifting closer along the seat, he tentatively put his arm around Joe’s shoulders. “You never finished telling me about the episode.”

“I didn’t? Where’d I stop?”

“Riker proving Maddox’s point about Data being a machine.”

Joe stared at him in something akin to awe. “Huh, you were listening.”

“Of course I was. I’m right next to you.”

“People can be right in front of you and not hear or even see you.” Joe wiped at his eyes. “Happens every day at the shop.”

“I know that feeling.”

Joe exhaled. “Can I ask?”

“About?”

“Why you joined?”

“Because I was eighteen and an idiot.” Nicky let his head drop back against the padding of the nook. “Barely eighteen even. Recruiters came to my school, told us they would take care of everything, and I was in that point where I was lost and wanted to get away, but was also worried about money and making decisions. So, I just thought, they’d make my decisions for me and I’d get free college out of it.”

“Beat for beat what Lykon told me.”

He turned his head to look at him. “Lykon?”

“He works for us, he’s training under Patricia and I. Nile introduced us to him when he mentioned he always wanted to be a pastry chef but couldn’t afford culinary school.” Joe gestured to his chest. “He got sent home with a hole in his gut. Didn’t know what to do with himself outside the army.”

Nicky hissed in sympathetic pain. “How’s he handling it?”

“Has a huge scar across his stomach, says it hurts from time to time, but he’s doing good.” Joe rubbed at his eyes, breaking off a few lashes. “Pretty predatory when you think of it, going after kids at school.”

“I didn’t realize that until I had already been shipped out. A member of my unite cracked a joke about us being able to do this but not buy alcohol and I just…” he took in a deep breath, centering himself as Keane’s cheeky smile flashed behind his eyes. 

God, he’d loved the way he looked at him. Made him feel seen. Talked to him like he mattered. Only to leave him behind _the bastard._

“You realized you’d fucked up?”

“Essentially, yeah.” Nicky rubbed at his nose. “You still didn’t finish, what happened to Data?”

Joe resumed drinking his tea. “Glad you asked. The topic turned metaphysical, Picard saying that Data met enough criteria to be considered sentient therefore it’d be a crime to override his wish not to be dissected.”

“How did they prove that?”

He turned in his seat, facing Nicky, gesturing with the hand holding his mug. “They kind of didn’t. He asked them how they’d measure consciousness and no one could. But Data did show that he was self-aware, he had feelings and desires, and he wanted to be human.”

“So, Data is like Pinocchio? I remember there was an episode where he had a child show him how to be play and stuff? Because he didn’t have a childhood.”

Strangely, Joe almost looked relieved. “Yeah, he did! And I guess Pinocchio is a good comparison.”

“Man, Disney really cleaned _Pinocchio_ up from his source material,” Nicky said. “My grandma read us the originals and they are just—” he widened his eyes and blinked rapidly, hoping to get his impression across.

“What?” Joe leaned in. “Are they Grimm Brothers-level of childhood ruining?”

“More or less. Pinocchio was kind of an asshole, he gave Geppetto a hard time.” 

“Was he an asshole or an unruly child?”

“Depends on your view, I guess. He went through a lot of trouble though, until he finally cleaned up his act and the Turquoise Fairy made him a real boy.”

“Turquoise? Not the Blue Fairy?” 

He pronounced turquoise as _tur-kwahz_. It sounded better that way.

“In Italian it’s _‘the Fairy with the Turquoise Hair’_.”

“Interesting what gets lost in translation. Like _Majnoun Layla_.”

“What do you mean?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “People call it _Majnoun and Layla_ , thinking that was the guy’s name.”

“And it was?”

“Qays.” He rubbed his brows, annoyed. “I hope no one liked that story enough to name their kid after it.”

“Says the man who named his daughter Layla.”

Joe rolled his eyes at him. “I told you, Layla was named for the night.”

“Because you like to stargaze?”

“Exactly,” Joe said proudly. “I’m just thinking that there might be some poor boy out there whose parents named him Madman.”

“Could be. I knew a girl called Cinderella.”

Joe’s jaw dropped. _“No.”_

“Yes. Went by Cindy, but she was enough of a bitch I told her that name basically means ‘she’s dirty’.”

Joe threw his head back and laughed. “I’m saying this as a ‘first thought, best thought’ kinda guy, but _man_ , people don’t think before they act.”

“Sometimes that’s a good thing.”

“How so.”

“I didn’t think about stepping in front of the car. I just acted.”

The humor fled his face, sincere now. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

They sat there, looking at each other, and Nicky could feel himself sinking into those eyes. Like he had dived into a dark lake at night, lit only by moonlight.

The spell broke when Joe moved to finish his drink. Nicky remembered his and gulped the lukewarm tea, feeling flustered.

Night had fallen, and dinner was bunch of leftovers, including _maqlouba_ and sandwiches made with bread Joe had baked. 

Soon Layla had fallen asleep back on the couch and Joe carried her to her room. The sight of them that way made Nicky’s heart clench as he returned to his room upstairs. 

He couldn’t believe he was here, for at least the week. This whole day didn’t feel real.

Approaching the desk in his room where his laptop, tablet and drawing supplies sat, he found the little attached bookshelf containing some unorganized titles. At least four with wrinkled spines were in Arabic, five smaller ones were in English, and illustrated copies were in French.

He recognized _The Little Prince_. The story hadn’t made much sense to him as a kid, he’d always asked too many questions, wondered about the lack of realism. But looking back, the lack of it is what made children’s stories beautiful, free from limitations.

While he flipped through it, trying to approximate the French words to Italian, Joe’s voice startled him out of his daze. “You like that book?”

“I can’t remember. But I like the idea of it.” He turned to face him, holding the book open between fingers. “Remember what you said about Sci-Fi being depressing? What do you think could make it less so.”

“Take the existentialism out for a start, and the horrific aliens, and the ‘every man for himself’ theme that always crops up.” Joe left the threshold, slowly approaching. “It could some of the wondrous themes from fantasy, maybe a big fight between light and darkness, but that being actual starlight and black holes, maybe?”

“So, _Star Wars_?”

“Only the originals, everything else got way too involved and kinda started collapsing under its own weight.”

“Maybe because that wasn’t the intention? It was supposed to a simple story, a fairy tale basically.”

“Could be, it wasn’t set up like _Star Trek_ was with room for reasonable explanations. Or maybe it didn’t need them as much as it needed suspension of disbelief.”

“You said it could take pointers from fantasy as a genre,” he pointed out, raising the book. “Kid’s hopping planets and asteroids with no spacesuit.”

“You got me there.” He came to a stop before him, the toe-points of their slippers touching. “Maybe like an alternate universe similar to _Star Wars_ where their powers work like magic, but you don’t ruin the magic of the story itself by trying to explain everything with midichlorians.”

He got so worked up about this stuff, Nicky could officially buy that this gorgeous man was actually that big of a nerd. “You mad about that?”

“It served no purpose! We were fine with the space-samurai and their glowing swords, who asked for a breakdown of how the Force worked?”

“Really involved fans who liked to make theories and pester the creators with questions?”

Joe raised his brows at him. “Have any experience with that?”

“I may have been a bit of a comic book nerd that objected with how certain writers wrote my favorite characters.”

“Yeah? What comics?”

“Mostly DC. Primarily Batman and friends.”

By that he meant Nightwing. Nightwing’s design lived in his head rent-free.

Joe brightened. “Last Halloween, Lily and I were Superman and Robin.”

“Superman, not Batman?”

He shook his head. “I’ve always been more into Superman, he’s cheerful, positive, sees the good in people.”

“Because he can afford to. He’s indestructible.”

“Tell that to everyone who got their hands on kryptonite.” Joe took the book from Nicky’s hand, browsing it. “We could have used a Batman. It’d be fun to recreate all those comic covers where they seemed to be co-parenting Robin.”

That definitely didn’t come out the way Joe must have intended to. Nicky couldn’t allow himself to look to deep into it.

“You ever wanted to illustrate stuff like this?”

“I did. I do.” He shut his eyes, groaning. “But I have nothing to base it on. I’m stumped.”

“Think of a setting first, maybe something like we discussed?”

“Space Fantasy?”

“Other planets, stars, aliens or just very human-looking ones, all operate under whatever logic you’d like.”

“You want to brainstorm with me?”

“Do I?” he said a little loudly, excited. “Guess I know what we’re doing tomorrow.”

His excitement began to be mirrored within Nicky. “You don’t have work?”

“I do, but we can do that when I get home.” Joe glanced behind him, turning back, chewing his lip. “So, um, usually my parents watch her on weekends and after work, and she’s taken a few days off school to process. But they’re on a trip, and we know what happened last time I had her at work…”

“I’ll watch her.”

“Really?”

“I’m in your house, it’s the least I can do.”

His shoulders sagged with relief. “I’ll try to be back early.”

“No, take your time. She doesn’t seem like a handful.”

“She usually isn’t. But don’t be afraid to tell her no or anything.”

He quirked his mouth in a quick smile. “It’ll be fine.”

Joe threw the book on the bed and moved in, wrapping his arms around Nicky who automatically raised his own to set them low on his back.

Chest to chest, chins on each other’s shoulders, Nicky wanted to sink into him, become consumed by his warmth. He gave off so much heat, he wouldn’t be surprised if Joe started glowing.

He felt his bones becoming heavy, his muscles relaxing, and his knees threatening to buckle. 

Pulling back before he could sleep on him, Nicky found himself nose to nose with Joe.

Enraptured, he couldn’t move further, stuck gazing into his eyes, feeling his breath on his face.

Just a fraction of an inch, and they’d be kissing.

Like he’d had the same thought, Joe’s eyes moved back and forth from his eyes to his mouth and Nicky’s thoughts spiraled.

Panic resurged when Joe moved his face closer until he felt his lips on his cheek. Heart pounding, he moved without thinking, offering up his other cheek, brushing his lips against Joe’s stubbly cheek in the same move.

“Goodnight,” he breathed as he stepped back.

Joe stared at him for a minute, then shook his head. “Uh, yeah. Sweet dreams.”

When he shut the door behind him, Nicky breathed out a long, confused “What the fuck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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	6. Chapter 6

When he woke, Joe was already gone and Layla was where he’d expected to find her, on the couch before the TV.

As he passed behind her in the kitchen, making more of the tea Joe had made him yesterday and scrolling through a list of information and instructions Joe had texted to his new phone, he glimpsed what she was watching.

“Is that _Sailor Moon_?”

She jumped up to face him, gripping the back of the couch. “You know her?”

“Yeah, my sister was kind of obsessed with it. She wanted to be Sailor Mars I think?”

She let out a giddy gasp. “I want to be a Sailor Scout!”

Bringing his tea out to the coffee table first, he found Layla had rearranged herself into her preferred position, slouching with her feet on the table. “Can you tell me why?”

“I want to have the power of the moon or the stars! And to transform like Ladybug and Sailor Moon.”

Seemed that the love of Space Fantasy passed from dad to daughter. “The cool costume is a deal-breaker?”

“Deal-breaker?”

He returned for his croissant, one of Joe’s own. “Important to whether you like something or not. Like your dad with black coffee or pineapple cake. He can tolerate similar stuff just not that.”

She giggled, wiggling her toes. “I hate banana candy and watery milk, but I like other kinds.”

“Fat-free milk is gross, I agree. And banana candy doesn’t even taste like bananas.”

“Grape candy doesn’t either!”

“Have to wonder if whoever made that ever tasted grape.”

Layla looked to him with big, curious eyes. “Are there blue raspberries?”

“No, that’s definitely just a fake flavor like the chocolate of Oreos.”

She wrinkled her nose cutely, bringing his attention to little freckles on the bridge. “Oreos are _blegh_. My daddy makes better cookies.”

“I haven’t had his cookies yet.”

She gasped again, drawing out the noise as she flopped back against the arm of the couch playfully. “You have to! They smell so good!”

He’d bet anything related to Joe smelled good…

That thought made him almost throw the tea on his face. That was the last thought he should be having about him in general, let alone when he was babysitting his child.

“I can’t wait to try everything your dad makes,” he said.

Settling by her, he watched the episode play out, only realizing halfway that it had to be a redub. The voices were different, and he could have sworn Caterina’s _Sailor Moon_ was called Serena not Usagi.

Didn’t Usagi mean _bunny_?

As the end credits skipped out into the next episode in the roster, Layla flopped onto her other side, resting on his arm. He found her looking up at him, cheek smooshed against his shirt, hazel eyes bright and clear. “Why is there a Sailor Moon but not one for Earth? Or the Sun?”

“That’s probably a question for Nile.” At that, he thumbed his screen until he pulled out their text chat. He hadn’t responded to her texts yesterday out of grouchy spite. They mostly asked for updates.

To Nile he texted: _Why is there no sailor earth or sun?_

Like she had had her phone on her chest, she replied almost immediately: _What happened yesterday? what did you guys do? hows lily????_

He replied: _We talked a lot. Layla’s fine we’re watching sailor moon and have some qs pls answer first one._

With a series of _fwoop_ s the replies came in:

_— There’s no sailor earth or sun because in their past lives they were part of a kingdom on the moon that got destroyed_

_— she was princess of the moon thats why she’s the most important one_

_— they were reincarnated in the future as the sailors and tuxedo mask_

_— they now have to defeat the original bad guys on earth_

_— a bunch of other stuff happens not limited to her and TMs daughter from the future showing up and joining them which sounds like something out of that awful flash tv show_

_— omg wait are you watching SM now? without me???_

He replied: _yes layla and i are watching it now and she had questions_

Nile’s next reply made his tea go down the wrong pipe: _No fair I was supposed to pop your anime cherry :(((_

In between coughs, he tapped out: _pls never say that again!_

Her response was a smiley face playfully sticking out its tongue.

“Are you okay?” Layla asked, setting her hand over his chest. “What did Nile say?”

“That she’s Sailor Moon instead of Sailor Earth because she used to be the Princess of the Moon in a past life,” he summarized. “It all started from the Moon.”

She dropped her head back against his arm, a small, comforting weight. “I want to be Princess of the Moon.”

Nicky was about to tell her there was no point because the Moon was lifeless and small, but he held his tongue in time. “Moon, not the Sun?”

She shook her head, rubbing her hair against his shirt. “The Moon is out at night with the stars, you can’t see the stars in the morning.”

“Sometimes you can,” he said. “And you can see one big star in the morning.”

“Which?”

“The Sun is a star.”

Her mouth opened in an O of surprise. “It is?”

“It is.”

“Then why is it a sun and not a star?”

“Because we and the planets orbit it,” he explained. “It’s why a little planet orbiting another planet is called a moon.”

Her eyes grew even wider. “Little planet moons?”

“Some of Jupiter’s moons are as big as planets. Didn’t your dad ever tell you this?”

“No!” she sounded outraged. Joe was getting a little confrontation when he got home. “Do stars have planets?”

“Some do.”

Layla let out a little excited squeal. “I want to see them. I want to go there.”

She was so precious, he couldn’t help the goofy smile that made it onto his face. “Me too. But so far we can only visit them in stories.”

“Do you write stories?”

“I’m trying to. I’m trying to remember how to, or what I even liked about them to begin with.” He slumped in his seat, half-watching the brightly-colored characters before him. “I want to write something fun, something that doesn’t remind me of anything that upsets me, but I don’t know if I can because I don’t think I remember what it’s like not to be upset.”

Why was he venting to a child? What was wrong with him?

He felt her arms wrap around his and met her eyes. “Do you remember what used to make you happy?”

“Drawing. Cats. Friends.”

“I have some friends but I want a cat. One like Luna.” She pointed at the screen where a talking black cat heckled Sailor Moon. “I can’t really draw though. Can you show me what you draw?”

“Want to give me pointers?”

She nodded vigorously, unleashing his arm.

“All right then.” He quickly headed up, getting his sketchpad and mechanical pencil and returned to his spot to find that she’d changed the show back to yesterday’s Ladybug and was singing along to the theme-song, this time in English.

“Tell me what you like about this show,” Nicky told her once the song ended.

Layla sat up on her knees and started excitedly telling him in unfocused detail what she loved, from the villain costumes, to the magic yo-yo, the heroes’ helpful creatures called kwamis and the love story of the main characters. All with the same fannish intensity her father had.

The goofy smile of fondness was here to stay on his face.

“—and they don’t know that she’s Ladybug and he’s Adrien!” she ranted, shaking her hands, adorably worked up. “But other girls keep trying to take Adrien away! I hate them!”

That got a laugh out of him as he flipped open his sketchpad. “What would you like me draw?”

She pointed at the screen. “Ladybug!”

“Done.” Propping it up against his knees, he got to working, occasionally glancing up at the screen to get a better idea on proportions.

“She called Ladybug in the French version as well? Is it the same word in both languages?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, one eye on his sketch and the other on the TV. He could feel her buzzing with excitement until she snapped up with a firm “No! It’s _coccinelle_ in French.”

“It’s _coccinella_ in Italian.”

“ _Co-tchee-nella?_ It sounds the same but not.”

“That’s Romance languages for you.”

She looked at the TV at the word ‘romance,’ where Ladybug and the Black Cat character, were fighting the bad guy.

The more he looked at them the more he started to think that this was gender-bent fan fiction of Spider-man, who too had a Black Cat love interest. That made him feel better about his and Joe’s talk about scrounging for ideas in _Star Wars_ and _The Little Prince_.

“Not that kind of romance,” he said. “As it it comes from Rome, where Latin came from.”

“Like the Romans in _Astérix_?”

“Astérix?”

She jetted off to her room and returned with a graphic novel as long as her torso depicting a familiar pair of figures. “Astérix and Obélix in Gaul where the Romans invade! They drink a magic potion and beat them up!”

Thankfully, the copy she handed him was in English, so he was able to get the gist of the plot as he skimmed through it. It was very close to what he wished he could create, a fun, interesting concept with a faraway yet somewhat grounded setting, some commonplace magic and even a small cultural backdrop.

Seeing the Roman characters made him entertain the idea of the aesthetics of the Roman Empire but in space, or at least another planet with a different history.

By the time Joe returned from work, Nicky had sketched her Ladybug, Obélix carrying a menhir and a small approximation of the solar system as best as he could remember it.

“Daddy!” Layla climbed over the back of the couch in her rush to greet him.

Throwing herself at his legs, she yelled, “Why didn’t you tell me the sun was a star?”

Confusion leaped from his eyes as he faced Nicky. “I didn’t?”

“No! You didn’t! You said stars only come out at night!”

Picking her up and swinging her around, Joe then set her on the counter. “They do, the only one we can see during the say is the sun because it’s the closest.”

She pouted. “You never said that!”

Joe caught Nicky’s eye, looking to be at a loss. “You didn’t ask.”

Something about that response made him crack up.

“I want to be Sailor Sun now!”

“Sure.” Joe looked at Nicky again, and he could see the question marks manifesting above his head. “Am I missing something?”

“Kind of a long story. According to Nile, Layla really likes—” he pulled out his phone, skimming the last few texts they’d exchanged. “The Magical Girl genre.”

“Magical Girl!” Layla agreed, throwing her arms up.

“Right, all the cartoons with the transformation scenes,” Joe acknowledged with a nod. “Is that a requirement?”

“Nile more or less said so when she listed off the traits of the genre.”

Nodding, Joe began moving about the kitchen, getting stuff out for lunch, some of which included _white sausages_. “I see. Does that make _Transformers_ a Magical Girl show?”

“…I haven’t drawn fan-art in years but now I want to draw Optimus Prime in Sailor Moon’s outfit.”

“Do it!” Joe seemed excited, taking out pancake mix and eggs. “Or would Voltron be a better fit? Did you know there’s a _Voltron_ reboot?”

“Is everything being rebooted these days?”

“How many Batman and Spider-man movies have we had across our lifetime?” Joe made a long-suffering face, cracking eggs into a pan one-handed, without looking.

Such efficiency. Such expertise. Nicky didn’t know if he envied or admired him for that.

“Three Spider-men last I counted, though I didn’t see the new one.” He leaned on the sink, next to Layla’s section of the counter where she sat and swung her legs. “I think Ladybug is based on Spider-man.”

That didn’t seem to click for her. “She’s Spider-man’s sister?”

“In spirit,” he said, then wondered if that would make any sense to her. “There you go, Joe, Magical Girl Spider-man.”

“I think we’ve figured what you should make your Space Fantasy comic about,” Joe said over the sizzling of the food. “Now all that’s left is what to base the setting on. But, like, maybe don’t make it a rude rip-off.”

“What do you mean?”

Sliding the eggs off the pan and onto a big plate, Joe twisted his mouth with displeasure. “My dad can probably go into more academic detail about this, but to be brief Luke Skywalker’s planet in _Star Wars_ was based on a part of Tunisia.”

His jaw briefly dropped, before he pulled it back up to ask, “How?”

“There’s a part in Tunisia literally called Tataouine. They shot those scenes in Tunisia itself, and a lot of the designs for the aliens living these came from the local culture, and yet it was populated by these Germanic-looking people like Mark Hamill and Hayden Christensen.” Joe waved the spatula around, back to the pancakes and the white sausages. “It happens a lot, even in historical fantasy like the _Mummy_ movies.”

“Are you serious?”

He grimaced, like it pained him. “Not a single Egyptian or even North African person was in those movies, or any movie set in Egypt. Not even as background characters. The only time I saw someone that looked ‘familiar’ growing up was Bashir from _Deep Space Nine_.” He stopped, exhaling to cool down. “It sucks to be left out of something you’re originally a part of, you know?”

“That’s so shitty,” he said, genuinely ticked off. “I know it’s not comparable, but that reminds me of what bothered me about movies that are about Brits and Americans in Italy, we’re rarely part of the plot. And Romans are always played by Brits.”

“Living background dressing.” Joe tossed the pancake, flipping it onto its other side. An old-hat trick to him that would end in disaster for Nicky. “Now that you mention it, yeah, all those movies set in Rome or the Italian countryside are always suspiciously packed with other Anglos.”

“Is that what you’d like, for the setting to be based on your region?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Nicky said. “Show me some stuff you’d like to include there, from both your parents’ countries. I’ll do it. I’ll make that the Sun Kingdom or whatever.” He looked down at Layla. “Want to be the Sun Princess?”

Delight filled her round face and made his heart feel like it was expanding.

Joe, now baring plates of pancakes, sausages and eggs, gave him a soft look. “You’re, uh, basing the Magical Girl design on her?”

Nicky rushed to the cupboard he knew had the plates and got three, ignoring Joe’s objections. “Is that okay?”

“That’s more than okay.” He helped her settle on her cushioned seat as Nicky beat him back to the kitchen for the cutlery. “That’d be great, really. I can’t remember finding a children’s book with characters that looked like her. Or us.”

“Then I’ll make one for you,” he said firmly. “Soon as I have a story, a title, and my arm heals I’ll get to it.”

“Nicky, really, you don’t need to promise us anything,” Joe said meaningfully, serving her first then Nicky. “Don’t feel like you can’t say no to her, it’s important she knows what ‘no’ is at this age.”

“That’s not what this is about, I’m not indulging you.” Nicky held out his plate, practically drooling at the smell of the food. “You’re helping me with ideas, inspiring me.”

Joe’s ears warmed up, an endearing shade of red. “Then I better get to finding you stuff I’d like to see in this Sun Kingdom.”

“I’m excited,” Nicky said. And he truly was. Ideas in his head had begun churning.

“What’s ‘indulge’?” she asked, sounding out the word slowly. “Sounds like fudge.”

“Indulge is feeding something you didn’t need to feed that much,” Joe said, nudging her sausages with his fork. “The only thing you’re being right now is brunch.”

She made a displeased face at her food before digging in. Nicky joined, starting with the curious sausages.

He raised one on his fork. “What are these made of?”

“Turkey,” Joe hummed, covering his mouth as he spoke mid-chew. “You never had these? Did you want something else? I forgot to ask if you had any dietary needs or preferences!”

Nicky responded by shoving the whole thing in his mouth and making noises of approval, giving him an OK gesture, thumb and index finger together.

Whatever climbing panic Joe was exhibiting dropped. “Good?”

 _“Mmmph.”_ He mumbled, swallowing as he stabbed another piece. “Good, yes. I just didn’t know they were a thing.”

“I’m glad they are, because we need our protein but neither of us is really into red meat. I mean, I have some, for visitors,” Joe said. “You?”

“I usually just eat what’s put in front of me. You did not argue with whatever my grandma made you, you ate it and you were grateful.”

Joe agreed. “You don’t turn down food made by a grandmother unless you’re some kind of monster.”

“Taita gets mad if I don’t eat her food,” Layla piped up, then stage-whispered, “Some of it is not that good.”

He wanted to pinch her cheeks.

“I’m sure it’s great.”

“No, my mom has a tendency to overcook some stuff. Usually pasta and rice,” Joe said. “I think she just gets distracted?”

“Maybe she’s afraid of undercooking it? One lady my dad was dating before he met my stepmom came over for dinner and complained about our pasta being undercooked. Really got into it with my grandma about how ‘I don’t care if this is how you do it in Italy, here it’s undercooked’, so the next time she came over Nonna overcooked the pasta.” Nicky stuck out his tongue at the memory of that meal. “It was slippery and kinda gross, like the noodles were worms.”

Layla let out a little “Eww!”

Joe wrinkled his nose in agreement. “That sounds more like spite than an accident.”

“You’re probably right. Nonna _hated_ Linda.”

He shook his head chidingly. “Good thing rice-cookers are now a thing, mostly. Other stuff needs to boil whole.”

Nicky wondered if Joe was as good and as varied of a cook as he was a baker. “Like the _maqlouba_? That was great.”

“Then get ready for a lot of rice dishes this week because I’ve been craving them a lot. You’ll be sick of them.”

“Doubt it,” Nicky told him, wiping the last of his egg yolks off the plate with a piece of pancake. “So far, every taste I’ve gotten from you has been delicious.”

Suddenly, Joe choked. Nicky immediately pounded him on the back. “Jesus, you alright?”

Clutching his throat, he continued dry-heaving, eyes watering. “Yeah, didn’t finish chewing before I swallowed.”

Layla shoved her glass of water in his face, splashing some of it out. “Here!”

 _“Merci,”_ he wheezed, taking a sip, then clearing his throat loudly. “I need to learn to eat slower.”

“Probably. But you must have been starving, making food all day.” Nicky started collecting the plates and utensils. “On that note, how was work today?”

“Fine. Sébastien and I are still debating including soufflés but training others to make them is a challenge. The ones Lykon makes keep collapsing.”

“Sounds like they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Could be.”

Layla rushed ahead of them, carrying the nested cups to the sink. “Why is it called a _soufflé_? Does it make that noise?”

“Soufflé is a noise?”

Joe whistled breathily, like the sound of wind. Or the sound of something inflating in a cartoon. “It’s both used to describe the sound and the action of puffing up.”

“I don’t know why it never occurred to be that the names of French pastries have meanings.”

“They range from literal to somewhat poetic. Think most food is like that?” Joe finished stacking the washing machine, rising to wash his hands, Nicky joined him without thinking, bumping up against him as they washed their hands. He didn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Yesterday, when we were talking about the Blue Fairy in Pinocchio, how did you say her name?”

“ _La Fata dai capelli turchini_ —or just _La Fata Turchina_.” He made way for Layla to stick her hands between them, ignoring her father’s gripes to go use her bathroom. “Why?”

“I was just thinking… _capelli_ , isn’t that a kind of pasta?”

He couldn’t help being impressed by him knowing that. “Capellini, yeah. People here just call it angel-hair pasta.”

Joe let out a long “Oh!” of understanding. “I get it now. I thought it was because they looked like capillaries.”

Nicky pulled a face. “That’s an unsettling thought. Blood vessel pasta.”

“Something Hannibal Lecter would serve.”

Like they had forgotten Layla was there, they jumped apart when she piped up. “Elephant Man made blood pasta?”

Part of him wanted to worriedly ask why she knew who the Elephant Man was. Or why she recognized Hannibal’s name.

Luckily, Joe quickly cleared that up as he herded her back to the living room. “No, Hannibal didn’t make pasta, it didn’t exist back then.”

“Elephant Man?” he asked him. “How does she know who he or even Hannibal are?”

Joe gave him a confused look then whatever it was hit him. “Hannibal _Barca_.”

“Oh! Oh, right, the guy who brought elephants in through the Alps.” He smacked his own forehead, feeling stupid. “Cultured kid you have there.”

“Blame my dad for that part. He was born in Tunis, near Carthage, is very into the country’s history and the history of the Mediterranean in general.” Joe stretched his arms over his head, some parts of him popping. The shirt rode up to show a tantalizing flash of skin. “I bet he can tell you more about Rome’s history than modern day Romans can.”

“Your dad is the history nerd to your media nerd?” Nicky noted. “Also, Carthage still exists…?” He stopped, thought about how stupid that sounded and followed it up with “Dumb question. Why wouldn’t it exist? Rome still does.”

“No, no, nothing dumb about it.” Joe raised yesterday’s mug out in askance. Nicky nodded. “Eh, it’s different. I mean, it’s still here. But not the way Rome or London or Alexandria do as major cities anymore.”

“You ever been to any of them?”

“Tunis, London and Alexandria, yes. Rome, no. You?”

“None. Just where I got shipped out.”

“Your family never took you back to Italy?” he sounded disappointed by it.

Nicky peeked into the tea cupboard, pointing at something that looked interesting—black tea with rose. “Couldn’t really afford that trip growing up.”

“That settles it, you and I need to see Rome, and—where did you say your dad’s side was from? I know it’s not Geneva but my brain is insisting on it.”

He snorted softly. “Close enough—Genoa. And yours is from Tunis? Tunis is different from Tunisia itself or am I confused?”

“It is, it’s like how the capital of a state or a place can be that place but with City after it?” Joe guessed, setting up their tea-tray. “Mom is from Alexandria in Egypt, she does this confusing thing where—in Arabic, I mean—she’ll refer to Cairo as Egypt.” He stopped, thinking, then added. “Actually, Tunis is the same issue. Both the country and capital city are _Tunis_ in Arabic. But I at least know why that is.”

“Why?”

“The city’s name came first. So, you only tell the difference via context.”

“Like how the Roman Empire was named for Rome not Italy. The name for Iraq came from Uruk.”

His brows rose, intrigued. “I can’t believe you know that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Joe pulled an annoyed face. “Most people haven’t looked at a map, let alone learned where the names came from. I recently had to explain to the father of one of Lily’s friends that ‘Iran’ came from ‘Aryan’ and that Germans stole and perverted that term.”

Nicky was at least aware of that fact. “What started that topic?”

The annoyance deepened. “Greg was making a big stink about a the father of another classmate being called Aryan. Joke’s on him, the Delshads are Persian Jews.”

“Did you have to also explain that Persians don’t speak Arabic?”

Joe stumbled over an exhausted laugh. “Actually, I did. That mix-up also happened to my parents when they moved here.”

“Is this on the same level as people trying to speak Spanish to my grandma or…?”

“Close. Neighbors thought they’d welcome them by getting them some blessings or something to hang on the wall in Arabic. My mom thought she was having a stroke because she couldn’t read it.” Joe’s chest shook with held-back giggles. “They still hung it up on their wall though. It’s the thought that counts.”

“I feel like your parents and my grandma have a lot of similar stories.” Nicky examined Joe’s face, wondering which parent he resembled the most. “How did your parents meet?”

Joe led him back to yesterday’s nook. “In a hotel in Paris. He was already living and working there and attended a work-conference, and she was vacationing with her family.”

He slid into the booth first, invested. “That must have been real romantic.”

“Dad says so, mom remembers it differently. Said it was a cursed trip and everything went wrong except for meeting him.” He inhaled the fumes of his tea, sighing contently. “Wonder how the current trip is going. They always come back with conflicting stories.”

“How so?”

“My dad will be like ‘oh it was great, we did this and saw that’ whereas my mom will be like ‘this restaurant brought me raw lobster and someone was rude to me, it was awful’.”

“Optimist married to a realist?”

“More like pessimist.” Joe checked behind him at where the volume flared, yelling “Lily, that’s too loud!”

No response.

Irritated, he switched gears and yelled in Arabic. _“Layla, el-soht ‘ali!”_

The volume lowered.

He shook his head with a soft roll of his eyes. “Sometimes English doesn’t cut it.”

“My grandma would agree. She yelled at us in Italian because English didn’t sound intimidating enough.”

“I feel bad for Sébastien, French sounds even less commanding than English, and he’s got three boys now.”

“Do you mind me asking about that?” Nicky was curious but didn’t want to bother Nile with questions about her crush that veered off giving her the chance to gush about him.

“It’s not a nice story.” Joe quirked his lips to the side. “His sister was very self-destructive, and she fell in with the wrong crowd when their family immigrated here.” He sighed heavily before blurting, “Both her and her boyfriend were addicts.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, they got into trouble, regularly. And unlike a lot of my mom’s patients, they didn’t want help, not even a little bit. Séverine herself seemed to get worse every time they tried to stage an intervention or separate her from her boyfriend.”

“I had a relative like that. He was found dead in his car when I was a kid.”

Judging by the heavy look Joe’s face facial muscles exhibited, this story had a similar trajectory. “Robin and Louis were taken away from them, but Sébastien’s parents wanted nothing to do with them because they thought that being responsible would make her snap out of it. It didn’t.”

“So, he stepped up to take care of his nephews,” Nicky summed up.

“Mhm, he’s had them for a few years, but the last he heard of Séverine was when the authorities contacted him again and said that she had overdosed and left behind a baby.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He covered his mouth, centering himself. “What about her boyfriend?”

“No idea what happened to him, but we’re hoping he doesn’t pretend to clean up his act and show up a few years from now fighting Sébastien for custody.” Joe dragged his hand down his face, exhausted by the topic. “He still won’t talk to me about how he feels. I know he’s upset she died, but he just won’t admit it.”

“That’s what you were mad about the night we met on the street?”

“Yeah, he and I had a meeting that night and once again when it was his turn, he didn’t say anything and I know he’s sad, because it’s the anniversary of the day they found her _but he just won’t open up._ ”

“You take turns in work meetings to do…?”

“Not work. Support group.” He elaborated with accompanying gestures. “We met at a support group for single dads.”

“Okay, in retrospect that makes a lot of sense.” He sipped his tea, it wasn’t like yesterday’s, the scent stronger, the black tea more bitter. “How did you connect then if he doesn’t talk?”

“I may have relentlessly pursued him once I figured out he was some kind of francophone,” Joe said in feigned innocence. “It’s not often you meet someone who speaks French here, I just kinda pounced on him and took that as an excuse to keep talking, and it endeared me to him.”

“You’re pretty endearing,” he said stupidly. “I mean personable.”

Joe winked at him. “I try. I have more restraint than my old man.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s what you’d call aggressively friendly. My mom won’t admit it, but that’s what she loves about him.” He smiled a little, fond. “She can be a bit of a grouch until she gets comfy, a little on-edge and distrustful, so my dad balances her out, doesn’t let her get too far into the depressing side of her job.”

Nicky now imagined Joe’s parents as a golden retriever and a tabby.

“I wish I was like your dad sometimes, that I could just.” He shoved his hand through the air. “Go into places, join conversations, be extroverted. But I’m always too worried that I’m annoying whoever I talk to.”

“You’re not,” Joe said. “You’re great to talk to, anyone missing out on that is a fool.”

His hand came over Nicky’s, warm, thumb brushing his knuckles. “Maybe you’ll need some practice or positive reinforcement?”

Throat closing up, he could only stare at him, the touch consuming his mind.

Was he hinting at something or was he just that friendly? How could he tell?

It seemed like they were about to kiss yesterday…

When he found his voice, he said, “Practice reinforcement sounds good,” before cringing. “I mean, what you said.”

“Okay, then I just need to keep reminding you that you’re not annoying, that you are great to talk to, and that your art is great because I would know.”

“You ever gonna show me what you used to make?”

“I’ll look through my stuff and pick out what I’m most proud of.” He took a gulp of his tea, savoring it in his mouth. “Speaking of which, we said we were gonna brainstorm ideas for your graphic novel? Or was it a comic?”

“I’m thinking either a webcomic or, like you said about children’s stories, I could submit to a publisher?” Nicky carefully moved his hand underneath Joe’s, turning it up so their palms were together. “Or I’m getting way ahead of myself and I shouldn’t bother with that.”

Joe tapped his nose.

Nicky briefly went cross-eyed. “What was that?”

“Stopping you before you go on some self-defeating spiral.” He pointed a finger at him, telling him, “You will make this illustrated story, whatever you want to call it, and you will submit it. I may even know someone who can take it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, one of the guys in our support group, James Copley, works for a publisher and has been working on making a new imprint he can manage.” Joe took out his phone, still keeping his other hand on Nicky’s. “He was telling us about how excited he was about it, and his goal for this kind of KidLit.”

“KidLit?” The name sounded as adorable as its subject.

“Children’s literature.”

“I figured. What did you mean by ‘this kind’?”

Nicky’s phone buzzed. Joe set his down. “Sent you his contact info. ‘This kind’ as in what we were talking about, showing other kinds of people and families in fictions.” He glanced up at Nicky, almost bashful. “Stuff you don’t think too much about because you never see it in front of you.”

What…what was going on here?

Nicky had figured that Joe definitely wasn’t flirting with him earlier because of the obvious but…

“Yeah,” he breathed, the only response he could muster.

They sat like that, only moving to drink, in comparable silence until Nicky felt like he was going to burst into flames under Joe’s gaze.

Wetting his dry mouth with the last of his tea, he asked, “So, about that. The whole talk about Luke Skywalker’s planet and what you’d like to see in my concept. Can you show me what you mean?”

“Follow me.”

Finishing their tea, they left for another part of the house. In an office room with a bookcase covered in books from wall-to-wall, was matching blackwood furniture namely a desk between two chairs.

While dug around his drawers and looked through pictures on his laptop, Nicky busied himself by browsing the room. Like his room above, it bore titles in French, English and Arabic, sometimes the same book in different languages or just different covers.

On another, adjacent bookshelf were pictures and souvenirs from all the places he must have visited, or tokens from his parents countries, like the picture Joe’s dad had sent him. Small, colorful, blown-glass perfume bottles and genie bottles made of metal covered in intricate etchings, statuettes of Ancient Egyptian gods by brightly-colored, patterned pottery and dishes, wooden camels with decorative saddles, and evil eyes of various sizes.

Among them were picture frames. The one his eye went to first was of a slightly younger Joe, his hair shorter and his face fuller, looking overwhelmed with happiness as he held a red-faced pink bundle. Layla’s birth.

Browsing further, he found family pictures. One was on a ship and a few years old judging by Jessie. She was somewhere in her tweens or early teens, mouth full of braces, forehead covered in acne. His parents were in the center, a short man with greying curly hair, glasses and Joe’s face-shape, and a slim, brown-haired, elegant-looking woman with a strong jaw, half her face obscured by large sunglasses. They were bordered by their children and a young woman with light-brown hair, against the backdrop of a deep-blue river.

Joe’s hair was close-cropped, his hands in his jeans pockets, looking a tad awkward as he was pulled in closer by what had to be Adam, who also had his arm around the woman.

Another picture showed just the three siblings, Jessie sat at a table with her brothers behind her chair, arms around each other. They all had the same small, dark eyes, wide yet full lips, slim, sloping noses. Adam was the only one that inherited their mother’s wide face, something Layla seemed to share.

“You all have great genes,” he found himself saying.

“My dad would disagree, he hates being short.”

“How come you and Adam are tall then?”

“We take after our mom’s brothers, Youssef and Amir.” Joe waved him over. “Apparently Youssef tapped out at six-foot-four.”

“Damn.” Nicky stopped by his chair to find an open folder with pictures and sketches spilling out, mostly of locations, and the same on Joe’s screen.

He’d had a faint idea of what quote-unquote Eastern architecture looked like, domes over blocky buildings, sometimes more than one, with long, skinny towers and they came in either a variety of bright colors or were a bright, blinding white or an intense, deep blue. And that was visible in some of the pictures Joe showed him. There were the domed doorways as well, with the decorated doors, either carved or coated in interlocking iron, and intricate patterns of ceramic floors or complex, geometric marvels across walls as well as floors in tiles or mosaics. The same twisting, symmetrical patterns was also on the outside of buildings, bordering windows, on the archways of doors.

The level of effort, the precision, the eye for detail, the sheer mathematics of it all. He could keep staring at one piece and still come up with new elements.

_Beautiful._

“The Sun Kingdom is shaping up to be very detail-oriented. You want it to be a desert?”

“Somewhat. Can it be coastal?” Joe proudly beamed up at him, having clicked onto a picture of his family on a corniche with a harbor behind them. “Tunis and Alexandria are both on the Mediterranean, I’ve always felt like I have saltwater in my veins.”

“That’s a very epic way to phrase it,” Nicky said. “I guess I’m the same, Tuscany and Genoa are coastal too.”

“Isn’t every part of Italy coastal? It’s a peninsula.”

“You have keep reminding me I’m an idiot, do you?”

That flustered Joe, who seemed to be tripping over his own tongue to assure him otherwise. “I wasn’t saying that! I wasn’t ribbing you or anything, I was just thinking out loud!”

He couldn’t believe he’d thought this man was an asshole. Showed what stress or a bad day could make out of someone frankly adorable.

“Dude, calm down.” He set his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “I get it. You’re really worldly and cultured and all, it must be frustrating talking to the rest of us.”

Joe made a pained face. “Do I give off that impression?”

“I…maybe?” Nicky mirrored his expression, feeling bad. “I wasn’t mocking you, I’m just pointing it out.”

“I think you’re right, people get tired of me pretty fast.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, they do. I told you all about that yesterday.”

“Why, because one woman got turned off by you geeking out over _Star Trek_?”

“It wasn’t once, it’s happened my entire life.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why?”

It was Nicky’s turn to splutter. “Because you’re—you’re a catch.”

“Am I?” Joe tilted his head towards him, doubtful. “Can you tell me why you think so?”

The loss for words was quickly replaced with annoyance. “You just want me to compliment you.”

“Maybe. But I also want to hear why you think so, because most don’t.” Joe set his hand over Nicky’s, the other still on his shoulder. “I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m curious.”

This was a trap. It sure felt like one, at least.

What was he supposed to say? _‘You’re very attractive. I want to etch your profile into stone. I want to trace your lips with my thumb and feel them against my own, and maybe eat your cooking off your fingers’_?

Or _‘You’re a great father who’s clearly overwhelmed and I want to do whatever I can to help you both’_?

Torn between feeling turned-on and tender, Nicky could feel his face warming.

Joe noticed. “You okay? You’re a little pink.”

Why did he have to inherit his grandmother’s complexion? It betrayed his every feeling some days.

“I’m good, my arm’s just acting up.”

Joe got up, beating him back out. “Did you take your painkillers today?”

Before he could respond Joe was back with the pill bottle and a glass of water.

Nicky held out his hand. “Man, you’re fast.”

“Job requirement. If I’m a little late on anything I could need to throw out what I’ve been working on for an hour or more.” Joe handed him the glass the instant he popped the pills in his mouth. “Man, the amount of cakes that collapsed just because they came out at the wrong time. And the soufflés. And the thin pastries that caught because they were left in a little too long.”

“Sounds maddening.”

He inhaled deeply, puffing up his chest then exhaled slowly as he sat on the desk. “It can be that way some days, but others it’s pretty rewarding. Seeing people enjoy your hard work.”

“I can’t wait to know what that’s like.”

And he meant it.

“That’s the spirit.” Joe tapped his arm encouragingly. “I really can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

“You flattering me, Mr…” Nicky stopped, a tad horrified. “We never traded last names, did we?”

“No, we didn’t. I got yours from the hospital though.” He stuck out his hand. “Youssef Kaisani, pleased to meet you.”

Nicky gripped it, giving a firm shake. “Nicolò Genovesi, pleasure is all mine.”

The little laugh that brought all those lines bordering his eyes made Nicky’s heart stutter.

God, why did he have this effect on him? It seemed to be getting worse than when he actually thought he’d had a chance.

“So, you never gave me an answer,” he said, half-coy. “How am I a catch? Because I’m not buying that unless I end up in someone’s fishing net.”

If he wasn’t fishing for compliments, and was genuinely socially awkward that he geeked out often enough for it to be off-putting, then what was this conversation about—

“Oh, I get it,” Nicky said slowly.

Something akin to nervousness seeped into his tone. “You do?”

“You’re an ugly duckling, aren’t you?” He gestured to the picture frames. “Is that why there are no photos of you under college-graduate age?”

Judging by how wide his eyes got, Nicky was right.

Licking his lips, tantalizing, he asked, “You calling me a swan?”

Mouth suddenly too dry, he finished his water. “Well, I’m certainly not calling you a pelican.”

“If I’m a swan, what are you?”

Nicky touched his nose. “A toucan?”

The strangled noise of protest was worth the self-deprecating comment. “No! Come on!”

“Then what?”

“A hawk at least.” Joe traced the slope of his own slim nose. “Your nose isn’t that big.”

It was hard not to give him an unconvinced glower. “It takes up half my face.”

“Stop!” he begged. “It suits you, it’s striking.”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘it’s the most noticeable thing about you’.”

“It’s not!”

“Don’t flatter me.”

Joe shoved him lightly. “You first!”

“I’m not flattering you, I don’t think I’m capable of being insincere anymore. I don’t have the energy to bullshit people,” Nicky argued. “You, on the other hand, are definitely trying to make me feel better.”

“What, you a mind-reader now?”

“I don’t need to read your thoughts.” The part he cut out in time was _‘Your face gives enough away’_. But he didn’t want any self-consciousness to make Joe control his face, he enjoyed his expressiveness too much. “You’re just that nice.”

“Maybe I’m not. How would you know?”

“I can see it in your eyes. You’re the type to accidentally step on a cat’s tail then run after it, apologizing.”

Joe looked stumped, eyes bulging slightly. “Okay, I have done that. But I’m not that nice, not to the point I’d lie to you about anything.”

“Why wouldn’t you? You don’t owe me the truth.” Nicky sought his eyes, dark and downturned. “Also, save for our introduction, I bet you say ‘sorry’ when you bump into inanimate objects.”

“Oh, come on!” He seemed to be a little called-out. “Fine, I’ve done that too. It’s a thoughtless reaction. But something like withholding the truth is not something I enjoy doing, I’ve done enough of that already.”

“Since you claim to be forthcoming, mind sharing that truth?” Nicky teased. “Or is it too personal?”

Joe immediately avoided his gaze. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Trade you an answer for an answer. How do you think I’m a catch?”

Son of a bitch. They were really doing this, huh?

Irritation prickling along his forehead, he dropped down by Joe on the desk, trying to think of a way keep his words light, safe from being weighed down by undertones of lust or yearning.

“You’re a great cook and baker, you co-own a business, you’re responsible, you’re seemingly well-to-do, if not more. You’re cultured, caring and considerate. You’re a great father and, from what you’ve told me, a great friend.” He stopped, swallowing. “You’re handsome.”

Curse those expressive eyes, now as tender as Nicky’s flushing skin felt. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you’ve got nice hair.”

“If I’m truly all that, why have I always had such a hard time finding someone, and then keeping their interest?” he said quietly.

“I ask the same thing, except I don’t have any of your enviable traits.”

Joe bumped his shoulder against Nicky’s. “Stop dunking on yourself. We have different good traits.”

“And mine are what exactly?”

“Now who’s fishing for compliments?”

“Except I’m not,” he said plainly. “I really don’t know if I have any attractive qualities, especially these days. I have nothing to offer anyone. Nothing for them to literally not leave me behind for.”

His throat closed up at that last thought, flashing back to Keane walking away from him. Glad to be rid of him.

“Did someone tell you that?” Joe pressed his arm against his. “That sounds awfully specific.”

“Didn’t need to say it, just did it,” he admitted, close to blubbering. “Just up and left, all contempt and no pity.”

Fuck, he was going to cry. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about him?

“Hey,” Joe whispered. “Hey, look at me.”

He didn’t want to. Didn’t to be seen like this.

Joe gently set a hand on his face, turning it his way. His face was close, a few inches til they were nose to nose. “You deserve better.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“What you think isn’t fact.” The glimmer in his eyes, so dark they reflected the light along with each emotion like moonlit ripples on a lake at nighttime, entranced him.

“You don’t know me,” Nicky breathed out. “A little weird, how you much you wanted me in your house though. Left me with your daughter and everything.”

“I don’t yet, but I’m enjoying getting to know you. Like I said, I talked to your sister because I want to know more about you, and you’re here so I can get it from the source.”

That played at the corners of his lips, quirking up resistant muscle. “So, I was brought here under ulterior motives?”

“You could say that.”

“So, that’s what you said about withholding truth? You going to tell me what that was about?”

“How about I tell you what I like about you so far?” He thumbed at Nicky’s cheek, the simple gesture making his blood warm. “What others are missing out on?”

“Tell me.”

“You’re selfless, you’re artistic, you’re open to learning and seem open-minded in general, a good listener, you’re humble, you’re great with kids, and—” He lightly bumped his nose against Nicky’s, coming so close it made his breath hitch with shock. “You’re pretty interesting to look at, dare I say it, attractive.”

“Attractive,” he echoed. “Nice to look at? I’ve been told I’m off-putting.”

“I have an eye for detail, I appreciate what others don’t.” His hand moved up slightly, fingertips brushing the corner of Nicky’s eye. “You have eyes like a Byzantine painting, and I can’t tell how many colors are in them.”

That compliment hit Nicky like a punch to the throat. “Two?” he wheezed. “I have some brown spots.”

Joe blinked slowly, like he was making a show of his lashes. “Heterochromia.”

“That’s the word.” He was getting too comfortable in this position. “Is that my best trait? My eyes?”

“For me they are, the shape, the eyelids, the color.” Joe moved his hand down Nicky’s face, cupping his jaw. “They’re so melancholy, like they’re weighed down by years of woe, and I want to know all they have seen. But they’re as green as a summer-sea, I want to see what has sunk to the bottom of those waters.”

He couldn’t breathe. What was going on?

When he finally found his voice, he breathed out “That…was pretty poetic.”

Joe ducked his head. “Sorry, I get very in-my-head sometimes and don’t watch how I speak.”

“What are you apologizing for? That was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, in the best way,” Nicky told him. “Is that how you think? All metaphors and similes?”

“Kinda,” Joe said. “It’s maybe a bit more abstract than that. I look at something and grasp at comparisons, especially if I want to remember it.”

“And stuff you don’t want to remember?”

“If I have nothing to tie it to it fades, or becomes fuzzy.” His thumb stroked Nicky’s cheekbone. “You have a pretty memorable face, the bust of a Roman emperor.”

A pleased huff escaped him. “That’s what you mean by striking?”

“Yeah, intense, arresting, commands attention.” Joe came back closer. “I haven’t drawn in ages, I mostly did portraits. But I’m now feeling the urge to pick up a pencil and see if I can capture your eyes.”

Tongue dry, throat tight, he prompted “But?”

“But I don’t know if I could remember what I was doing,” he whispered. “I’d keep getting distracted.”

There was a hair’s breadth between them. Just a tilt of Nicky’s head and they’d be kissing.

The door slammed open, jerking them apart.

Layla wiggled in the doorway, shaking the door back and forth from her grip on the handle. “Whatcha doin’?”

Joe got to his feet, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Talking. Did you need something?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Hungry? We just ate.” Joe glanced behind him, past Nicky, presumably at a clock. “Huh, apparently we didn’t. Alright, dinnertime.”

He shooed her out, leaving Nicky sitting on the desk, stunned.

It took him a bit to snap out of his confused daze. Once he dragged his feet out to the dining room the table was set and leftovers from what was likely the past few days were being served.

He sat in his place and shoveled spoonfuls in his mouth as Layla chattered about the cartoon she binge-watched, giving her father enthusiastic summaries. Just like how he told Nicky about the _Star Trek_ episode.

At some point during the meal, he glanced to his right and found Joe already looking at him, something unreadable in his eyes.

Table cleared, dishes washed, it was almost nine o’clock and Layla still had some energy left her to bounce up and down.

“I wanna stargaze!”

“Nope!” Joe lifted her up from under her arms, carrying her to her room that way. “You have school tomorrow.”

She blew a wet raspberry of distaste. “I’d rather see the stars.”

“Wouldn’t we all? But the stars will still be there when you get back.” Joe held her out to Nicky. “Say goodnight to Mr. Genovesi.”

That half-snapped him out of it. “Gah, no. Don’t call me that.”

“No?”

“We’re not strangers anymore, I’m hanging out in your personal space, don’t make it so impersonal,” Nicky said. “Also, last thing I want to do is be addressed by my surname.”

It took Joe a bit to get what he meant. “I see.”

He ruffled Layla’s hair. “Just Nicky’s fine.”

Joe seemed to relax at that. “Okay then, say goodnight, Lily.”

“Goodnight lily.”

_“Layla.”_

Kicking her legs idly in the air, she giggled. “What? You told me to say ‘goodnight lily’ and I did.”

Joe groaned softly and she giggled. “A real comedian, you are.”

“A game-changer, she is,” Nicky said, leaning down to brush a kiss to her head. “She’s the one making the dad-jokes.”

He took her out towards her room. “Turning the tables on me, what a travesty.”

Nicky took that as his cue to head back up to his room, a strange sensation numbing his gut.

Joe had kept touching him, touching his face for what should have been an uncomfortable amount of time and complimented him in a way none of the men he’d been with had.

Somehow that touch felt more intimate.

Stress spiking his anxiety, in order to not lose his mind over this he decided to focus on what they’d actually discussed: ideas.

Taking out his laptop he started readying a folder of inspiration, images from the places Joe had shown him, or similar designs he dug up from across North Africa and the Middle East, architecture, patterns, mosaics, pottery, colors, and soon he found himself going down a rabbit hole of art-style and regional designs.

Coupled with the idea of the Magical Girl Layla was enamored with, he started thinking and, for the first time in ages, creativity began to properly churn in his mind, throwing out concepts he wanted to realize.

That was when he opened a document and began writing down ideas for a Sun Kingdom whose princess was chosen for a great destiny, concepts for a Moon counterpart, how the stars would fit in, and left a gap for the conflict, whether it’d be episodic or on-going.

It was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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	7. Chapter 7

The mind was a traitorous beast.

Anytime he got a spike in stress or uncertainty, he would have nightmares. Sometimes he’d wake barely remember what it was that disturbed him so much.

This time he was not so fortunate.

Nicky was back in the Jeep, caught in an explosion and half-crushed beneath it.

Only this time when Keane stepped into view and Nicky tried reaching out, he took his arm and dragged him out, only to twist his bloodied arm, press his knee down on his chest and stick the gun in his mouth.

The blast of the gunshot rang through his head with a deafening force and Nicky sat up, screaming.

Heart slamming itself against his ribs, he could barely breathe, his body stiff, the echo of the skull-shattering blast hurting his head.

The sound of stomping rose, elevating his heartbeat to a bursting level as the door swung open and a rectangle of light split the darkness, a silhouette casting a long shadow over him.

Mind screaming with panic, he managed to throw himself backwards, slamming into the headboard as the silhouette advanced, hands out.

He couldn’t breathe. _He couldn’t breathe._

“Nicky.” The lights came on and he found Joe by him on the bed, arm out by the lampshade. “What is it?”

“Can’t.” He clutched at his shirt, skin feeling too tight around his aching head. “Breathe.”

Joe crawled onto the bed, half over him. “Nicky, you’re having a panic attack, you need to calm down.”

“No shit!”

“Breathe with me, okay? Just take in a deep breath and—”

“I can’t!” he rasped, voice strangled, throat too tight to take in a proper breath. “I can’t!”

“Whatever it is, you need to stop thinking about it and focus on me. Breathe with me, okay?” Joe gestured towards him as he took in a deep, loud breath then exhaled. “With me, come on.”

Nicky shook his head, tearing up.

“Stop thinking.”

The gun in his mouth, the bullet breaking his skull, Keane holding him down and watching him with uncaring eyes—

“Nicky!” Joe caught his face. “Whatever you’re thinking about is only making it worse.”

He was crying hard now, running out of air, insides burning.

“Can’t,” he sobbed. “Can’t stop.”

Joe’s fingers went through his hair, fingertips touching the space he could swear had the exit wound of the bullet, damp with sweat that could have been blood. _“Nicolò.”_

At the sound of his name, he looked up and Joe filled his vision as he moved in—

—and pressed his mouth to Nicky’s.

Like noise being muted, the maddening echo in Nicky’s mind was gone, overridden by shock.

Body still tense, heartbeat intense, Nicky slowly began to give into the mindless response of moving his lips against Joe’s. He responded, slow, surface-level, almost chaste.

Pulling apart, Nicky’s limbs had gone from tight to heavy, his head kept up by Joe’s hands, his heartbeat still too painful to ignore but a haze had come over him. Not quite sure where he was or what was wrong, just that he was upset, tears pouring out his eyes as he let out shuddered breaths.

“Feeling better?” Joe asked softly, thumbs brushing away tears.

“No,” he whispered, worn out. “I don’t know.”

“Think you can go back to sleep?”

The only response he could manage was closing his eyes.

Without another word, Joe arranged him on his side then settled behind him, arm around his middle. “Is this okay?”

Head heavy, exhausted from his rude awakening, Nicky could only manage an approving hum.

The arm around his waist tightened its hold, a comforting pressure. “I’m here. You’re safe. You can sleep now.”

And he did, surrounding completely to the pull of sleep.

When he woke, the room was lit by what escaped through the cracks in the curtains, and the open door. He was alone.

Sitting up took a while, his head pounding, his arm aching, not just from the bruises but the older, muscular pain. He couldn’t massage it or add any pressure. He needed painkillers for that and the nightmare-headache.

Standing slowly, he checked the time on his new phone and found messages from Joe, Nile and his father.

Joe:

_Took Lily to school and went to work. Breakfast in the microwave. Message me when you wake up, tell me how you’re doing._

Nile:

_You coming to today’s meeting?_

Dad:

_Nonna says you better come over for dinner or she’ll drag you here by your ears. She’s not happy about you not recovering with us._

Sighing, he made his way out. Good thing they arranged his day for him, because he didn’t want to think. About anything.

On autopilot, he showered, ate the blueberry waffles and turkey sausages, got dressed and wandered the streets til he found a cab that took him to the VA. That whole two hours passing in a disconnected blur.

He made it to the room, sat and waited as the rest filtered in and only half-snapped out of it when Nile arrived.

There was a spring in her step, a shimmer in her eyes, and Nicky felt like shit when he realized that they vanished the second she saw him.

She dropped on the chair next to him. “What happened?”

Deflection was his first thought. “I should be asking you that. Any good news?”

“I have a date,” she said, an involuntary smile breaking before she reeled it in. “Well, I’m having dinner at his place. With the nephews. But still.”

“Progress,” he noted, patting her hand proudly. “If you need someone to watch Huey, Dewey and Louie while you two go to a street fair or something, I’ll do it.”

“Think it’d be safer to leave them with Joe, since they’ll listen to him.” Nile searched his face, worry making her doe-eyes look even bigger. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“Because you look like you got hit by a truck, and I’ve already seen what you look like hit by a car.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly.”

He let out a long, whistling breath, shoulders dropping. “I don’t know if I can put it into words.”

“Try. You’ll feel better once you say it out loud,” she said. “It doesn’t have to make sense, or be in order. Just talk to us.”

Nicky glanced at the others who’d arrived for the meeting. That’s what they were all here for, to share what was bothering them.

Might as well.

When his turn came, he told them about the nightmares he’d had about Keane and the panic attack that woke him up.

Only he left out the part about Joe.

Nile could sense it.

On their walk out, she linked her left arm with his right. “Got any plans today?”

Keeping with today’s theme, he talked without thinking. “Nonna wants me home for dinner. Wanna come with me?”

Taken aback, she let out a slow “Sure,” before nodding, fully registering. “Am I getting authentic Italian food out of it?”

“You bet.”

“Okay then! I have a five-hour shift, when does your family expect us?”

“By six-ish?” Nicky worried his lip, not ready to go back to Joe’s house alone. “What do I do until you’re done?”

She watched him for a bit, thinking. “Wanna come with me? I have a book in my bag, to help you pass the time.”

“That’d be great. Thank you.”

Nile rolled up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Anytime.”

Feeling like he’d sob from gratefulness, he returned the peck, a long press against the side of her face.

Halfway through their walk to her job, they were near the Aubergenie. He’d cleared his head enough to gather enough thoughts and say, “He kissed me.”

Nile tripped on air. “The guy in your nightmares?”

“No. Well, yes.” He flexed his left hand, the older, sub-dermal pain tense and demanding. “We did more than kiss.”

“Oh. Oh, _no!_ ” Nile gritted her teeth, lower corners of her lips tugged out in an exaggerated cringe. “Are you telling me the bastard who left you behind was your boyfriend?”

A supercut of memories assaulted him. The first time Keane smiled at him, joked with him, touched his shoulder, his lower back, tested the waters til he pulled him behind a building and kissed him. How he’d turned on the charm and gotten him, hook, line, and sinker but never quite let Nicky have him.

It went on and off for years. They’d be separated, assigned to different posts, but whenever they ended up back in the same place they’d have their hands under each other’s shirts, tongues in each other’s mouths.

He knew Keane was probably messing with others, and Nicky had found a handful he traded favors with. None serious, none holding more than fondness.

But Jack Keane had held more than that. A childish admiration for initiating him into this life, giving him his attention, making him feel in ways none of the confused boys at school did.

His first love was going to be the last thing he saw.

And his subconscious kept reminding him of that fact.

“We never used the word ‘boyfriend’ but…yeah.”

“I know this isn’t on the same level, but when I had my ‘accident’.” She swiped her hand across her throat, what the maroon scarf covered. “Girls I thought were my friends weren’t all that concerned. Once I was up and about, they iced me out. Mean girl’d me, even. Didn’t even say goodbye to me when I was discharged.”

“You still don’t get why, and some days it still hurts,” he finished for her. “You wonder if they wanted you die.”

“Yeah,” she heaved. “I don’t want to think it’s that, but I have no other explanation.”

“People just suck.”

She patted the arm linked with hers. “Not all of them. Let’s not go down that road, okay?”

“Okay.”

They finished walking to the garage she worked it.

THE ANDROMACHINE hung over the entrance in rounded yellow letters, the O in the shape of a tire, the A made up of two opposing wrenches.

Nile logged in, leading Nicky in through the noisy sections where cars were being serviced til they reached her share of the workload, a car that needed tuning up.

With a watery coffee and the book from her bag, _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ by Douglas Adams, Nicky sat near Nile while she worked.

“Dolphins?” he commented as he read. “What is going on here?”

“Don’t take it seriously, just read and turn your brain off,” she said from somewhere under the hood.

“I don’t know if I can. I want to, but I can’t.”

“It will take some effort, but you’ll manage it at some point.”

He sat back and pinched the skin above the bridge of his nose, then moved on to massaging his brows. “Why is it going to take effort to stop thinking? Shouldn’t it be the opposite?”

“It’s more about focusing on not thinking about what upsets you, and doing it enough times that it becomes easier for you to disengage,” she said. “Whenever I see something that sparks the memory of being attacked, I force myself to think of literally anything else. Sometimes I have to hurt myself to break that crippling focus.”

“Hurt yourself?”

“Uh-huh. One time it was so bad, I felt like I was suffocating, like the cut had reopened and I couldn’t breathe.” She straightened up, shutting the hood and wiping her hands. “All the breathing exercises and talking to myself didn’t work, so, I kicked the wall so hard I cracked several toenails. Big toe's nail was dark for several months.”

Nicky hissed, curling his toes with imagined pain. “Jesus, why?”

“Misdirection.” She turned her hands up in a what-can-you-do gesture. “When that real pain became urgent and broke the spell, I was able to come back to reality. That I was here, not there, that I was healed, that it was over and I was safe.”

“Is that an actual method?”

“Seems so. It works on different levels, kinda like how you scare people out of a case of hiccups.” Nile touched her throat, bare now. “Like, I don’t recommend hurting yourself. That’s not my point.”

“Then what is it?”

“Just that it can be hard to be rational, in moments like that. If you can’t slowly talk yourself down, commanding your focus, breathing exercises, and all that.” She inhaled, held the breath with her eyes closed then slowly let it out. “The last resort is the only thing strong enough to jolt you out of it: shock.”

“Shock?”

“Something sudden, random, jarring, unexpected. While you’re busy processing that you forget what was upsetting you long enough to disrupt the problem,” she elaborated. “Again, don’t do what I did. Don’t break your toes or punch walls or anything like that, okay?”

Nicky dropped the book and his jaw.

The kiss. That’s what it was.

Joe did it to shock him.

Nile waved a hand before his eyes. “What’s with the face?”

“Just realized something I’ve been trying to make sense of all day.”

“You going to share?”

“Not until I get some suspicions confirmed.”

“Okay. I’m going to go clean up then we can go because I am starving.”

Standing, he enveloped her in a hug. Her arms came up quick, a thoughtless reaction that made him rest his head against hers in contentment.

“Fuck those girls who iced you out,” he told her. “They missed out on having you in their lives, and that’s their loss.”

Her side of the hug tightened, pressing against his chest. “Thanks for saying that.”

Nicky gave her a brief, reinforcing squeeze. “I mean it. I’m glad Cat dragged me to the VA that day, I’m glad I met you.”

“Ditto.” Pulling back she brushed teardrops off her lashes with her fingers. “Is _ditto_ an Italian word?”

“Sounds like _detto_ —‘said’. So, maybe.”

“Your family is going to have to teach me some stuff tonight.”

“Whatever you like.”

After she’d cleaned up and gotten her stuff, they headed out and came across a tall woman in an olive-green tank top and ripped black jeans, with short hair and side-bangs. She had a small, heart-shaped face, with pixie-like features, and a general aura of exhaustion that Nicky resonated with.

“You done for the day?” she asked Nile, before noticing Nicky. “Who’s this?”

“Friend. Heading to his family’s for dinner.”

Her brows rose in his direction. “What happened to Monsieur Baguette?”

Nicky couldn’t hold back the reactive snort and Nile let out of squeak of indignation. “Don’t call him that!”

“What else am I supposed to call a French baker?”

“His name, Andy.”

Andy rolled her eyes. “Fine, what happened to Sébastien?”

“Nothing. Why?”

With her pen, Andy gestured between them. “Are you two…?”

“No,” Nile said firmly. “Absolutely not. We’re just friends.”

“You can never be sure with men.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “If I get a feeling you’re bothering her, I’ll run you over. We clear?”

“Andromache!”

This was surprisingly amusing. “Before you pull out the shotgun, I’m gay.”

Her entire demeanor changed from suspicious and confrontational to at-ease, pleased even, as she hand out her hand. “Cheers.”

He gave her a confused high-five and they headed out.

One cab ride later, they reached his family’s house. Night was falling and the lights were on.

“Look who decided to show up!” was his father’s greeting, arms up.

“Hi, Dad.” Leaning into the embrace, he waved at the rest behind Salvatore. “How’s everybody doing.”

First up off the couch was his half-sister Bianca, a smaller version of Caterina with their grandmother’s full face and light, curling hair, followed by her mother Teresa, a short, plump woman who Nicky’d always compared to Snow White, pale, dark-eyed with short curly black hair.

“Frankie, come greet your brother.”

Frankie, slouched on an armchair, eyes to glued to his phone, didn’t notice until Teresa yelled “Francesco!”

Dropping his phone, startled, he obediently came. “Hey, Nico. How’s the arm?”

Nicky showed it to him, getting pained reactions from Bianca and Teresa and a morbidly curious one from Frankie. “Damn, I didn’t know bruises got that dark.”

Teresa smacked him upside the head. “What is wrong with you? He’s in a lot of pain, he could still be in the hospital.”

“It’s fine, Tess. He’s eleven, he thinks it’s cool.” Nicky then addressed Frankie’s question. “It was even darker before, it’s more blue than black.”

“Is that why we say beat up people are black and blue?”

“It is.”

He’d never had that much of a relationship with his father’s new family. They were too young to have formed any relationship with him in his teens, and he’s been gone for years. He felt like they were more his cousins than anything.

He briefly hugged and exchanged basic pleasantries with each, mostly lies about how he’s been and how things were going.

Sensing awkwardness, Teresa turned to Nile, an intrigued tilt to her head. “And who’s this young lady?”

“Friend,” Nicky told her. “Just a friend.”

Nile held her hand out. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Genovesi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Salvatore took her hand and pulled her into a hug, placing a kiss on either cheek. “A friend! Do you have any idea how long it’s been since he’s had one of those?”

A mixture of horror and embarrassment shot up within him. “Dad!”

Nile didn’t seem to mind, giggling softly as she moved on to trade kisses with Teresa then Bianca.

Caterina poked her head out of the kitchen. “Is that Nile?”

“Yeah, I brought your co-conspirator,” Nicky said, still feeling a little mad at her. “How’ve you been doing, traitor?”

Caterina approached, her hair pulled back and slightly damp from cooking steam, arms out. “Don’t be so dramatic. I did you favor.”

Accepting the hug before she moved on to greet Nile, he asked, “And what was that?”

“Getting you to get out of the apartment, out of your head, and to be with the sexy baker.”

Teresa took that as her cue to take the kids back to the living room. Salvatore looked between them. “Do I want to know what you’ve been up to that was more important than coming home with us?”

Caterina answered for him, “Nicky saved the guy’s daughter, and he feels grateful or guilty or whatever and wants to pay him back by taking care of him.”

“That is an odd way to be grateful.”

Nicky shrugged. “I don’t get it either, but he makes great food so I’m not complaining.”

“And who’s food was good enough to keep you from home?” His grandmother finally emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands with a towel.

Here was the person he’d been avoiding the most, not out of need or discomfort, but guilt.

He didn’t want her to see him like this.

Flora Genovesi, a former nurse who’d strong-armed her way through life in this country once her husband died on her, was now in her seventies, was blessed with a full face and figure to appear over ten years younger, and still had enough zest and energy to call the shots and run a daycare.

He was certain this was how Caterina would look when she older, as she had inherited most of Flora’s features, but Nicky had gotten her ovular face, light-brown hair she now maintained with dye, and her fair complexion. The clearest resemblance both had inherited were the Santini green eyes.

Nicky didn’t think there was anyone he admired more.

Spotting him, she rushed over, delighted. “Nicolò!”

“Nonna!” He didn’t need to feign the overwhelming rush of love that no doubt reached his face as he bent over into her arms. “I missed you.”

Squeezing as much of him as she could get her arms around, she pressed several, quick, loud kisses to his cheek before moving onto the rest. “And whose fault is it for not visiting more regularly? Where you have been?”

“In his cocoon, melting, dissolving, so here’s hoping we’ll get a butterfly come spring,” Caterina said cheekily, from over Nile’s shoulder as they embraced.

The first thing Flora did when she stepped back from Nicky was to tap Caterina hard on the bridge of her nose, making her go cross-eyed. “Behave yourself, or I’ll make you wash all the dishes alone.”

“Nonna, we have a washing machine.”

“It’s not magic. Some things come out as they went in and need to be scrubbed first.” Turning back to him, she cupped his face, her hands wet and smelling like hand soap. “I missed you do, and I’m glad you’re here, _tesoro mio_.”

Releasing his face she turned to Nile, surprised. “Hello, are you a classmate of Catia’s?”

Hand outstretched, Nile seemed wary. “Friend of Nicky’s. Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Genovesi, Nicky has told me so much about you and your food.”

Setting her hands over her heart, glowing from the flattery, Flora asked, “You better finish your plate then. You look like you need some good feeding.” She nudged Nicky’s middle. “You too. Has your sister not been feeding you?”

“He can feed himself,” Caterina objected, getting shushed by Flora. “He’s older than me!”

“He’s not well. Now go back and finish dinner!”

Grumbling, Caterina headed back into the kitchen, and Nonna followed soon after.

Dinner went better than Nicky expected, Nile exhibited an admirable amount of patience listening to Teresa rant about the issues and gossip at her office, and kept making noises of affirmation and nodding as Frankie talked to them about the differences between two video games.

As Flora’s turn came to complain about certain parents from her daycare, Salvatore got up and brought drinks, handing one to Nicky.

“Can’t. Am on a lot of painkillers.”

“Ah, right.” He brought his chair closer, speaking in a low, clear tone. “Are they working? Because your nonna still has connections, she can get someone to prescribe you something stronger.”

“Sure. If there are sleeping pills that can give me a dreamless sleep, that’d be great.”

“Having nightmares?”

“I feel like they’re half-flashback, half-nightmare.”

“You ever going to talk to me about what happened?” Salvatore asked, dark-blue eyes probing Nicky’s soul, intent on finding an answer. “Or at least tell me why you left?”

“I told you. They said they’d pay for school.”

“But you’re not going to school, are you? It seems like you don’t even want this anymore,” he said. “All those years ago, I told you to leave and come work with me, that it’d be easiest to learn from me and people who’ve known you through me, and it was a good, almost-steady job.”

“Dad, can we not talk about this again?”

“I think we do, because you need to make a decision now before it’s too late to switch to another program or even school, and waste what you almost got blow up for.” He put his arm on Nicky’s chair, crowding him. “By the time your arm heals, I want you to—”

Nicky didn’t hear what came next. He felt cornered, the topic unburying stress he’d put aside earlier and filling him with instant, severe exhaustion.

Suddenly overwhelmed, he thought about what Nile said and pressed on his left arm, sparking a lightning-bolt of pain that didn’t do enough to lower the climbing panic.

“Nico.” He heard a muffled voice. “Nicolò.”

His pocket buzzed, jolting him. Still in a slow, blur of sight and sound, he took out his phone and answered, staring ahead at nothing in particular as his heart overpowered most noise.

 _“Nicky?_ ” Joe’s voice rang in his ear. “ _Where have you been? Why haven’t you been answering?”_

He sounded upset, which made whatever Nicky had been swept into evaporate.

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtlessly. “I’ll be right back.”

Then he stood, ignoring those calling after him.

He needed to get out of here and he didn’t have it in him to explain or even brush it off with a lie.

A firm grip on his arm stopped him. “Wait!”

Nile held him still. “Come on, I’ll take you back to Joe.”

“Nicolò!” He heard his grandmother before he realized she was before him. He let her pulled him down into a hug, her arms around his neck. “Don’t go yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t be here right now.”

Reluctantly, she let him go with a kiss on his head and Nile led him out as she thanked Flora for dinner and bid everyone goodbye for them.

Somewhere between then and getting in a car, he found himself on Joe’s doorstep, only properly coming to when the door opened and he was pulled in by him.

“Thanks, Nile.” He heard Joe say as the door shut.

Somewhat in the present, he found himself standing by the island in the kitchen with the top of Layla’s head peering at them from behind the couch, TV behind her muted on a cartoon full of technicolor horses. Caterina watched that show, she had the one with the rainbow mane and tail on her keychain.

Joe’s touch firmly brought him back to reality, though a bit dazed. “Nicky, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Feel like my brain fell out the back of my head.”

“I think I know what you mean.” He looked Nicky up and down, like he was searching for on answer stuck to him. “Do you know what started this?”

Logically, it would be the reinforced trauma of another ‘car accident’, the fact now starting to sink in. But Nicky felt like it was older than that, the way his mind turned to white noise the second his father reopened what he’d thought was a shut case was too familiar.

But neither of those conclusions made it out his mouth. “What do you mean that you know?”

Joe looked at Layla, who ducked back down and turned off Mute, the high-pitched voices and whimsical music of her cartoon affording them some privacy.

Judging by this behavior, he guessed she had a tendency to eavesdrop.

“Breakfast nook?” Joe offered. “I think you could use some jasmine tea.”

“Please.”

He stood, staring off into space while Joe puttered around the kitchen. A part of him was aware of the movement and of what was happening across the wide, flatscreen TV, but he couldn’t quite grasp or retain what he was seeing.

Fingers around the crook of his elbow led him to the breakfast nook, back in the same arrangement as the past two days.

He stared at the little glass teapot the jasmine tea was in and watched in hazy focus as the liquid was poured into his cup.

“Nicky?”

With a hitched breath, he came back out of it again. Taking a good rousing look around him, feeling like he’d teleported from his family’s home to Joe’s, he stared at the half-full teapot.

“Where are the jasmines?”

“There aren’t any.”

“You said it was jasmine tea. Shouldn’t there be white flowers and stuff?”

“It’s jasmine-scented green tea, really. Like the rose tea was black tea with some petals.”

“Oh.” He blinked at the contents of his _Star Trek_ mug. “What’s happening to me?”

“Right now or in general?”

“Now,” he said. “I feel like this has happened a lot before, but I can’t remember. You said know?”

“What you said about ‘your brain falling out’, I’ve felt like that sometimes.” Joe took a small sip, looking a little pale, cheeks sunken. “I think you’re disassociating.”

“Dis-what?”

He set his mug loud a little loudly. “Nicky, have you gone to a therapist at all since you got back?”

“Once or twice? Maybe? I can’t remember.”

“Who would?”

“Caterina?”

“Okay, I’ll ask Jessie to talk to her about this while you wind down.” Joe dragged his hand down his face as he inhaled loudly. “You gave me a scare, you know that? You don’t answer my texts, I come back and you’re gone, you don’t answer more texts, or calls until you finally do then you don’t say anything.”

“Why did that scare you?”

“Because you were gone! You were gone and you weren’t answering!”

“But I’m fine.”

“I didn’t know that.” Joe let out a shuddering breath. “You started screaming in the dead of night, I found you having a panic attack and then when I get back from work you’d vanished without a warning. What was I supposed to think?”

Something about his tone pulled Nicky further out of his detached mode. “What did you think happened? That I got run over for real this time?”

Joe’s dark eyes seemed larger, sadder, his lashes not large nor long but plentiful. “Among other things, yes.”

That was suddenly all he could think about, stupidly stating, “You have cow-eyes.”

Joe made a confused, yet humored face. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It was some brain-dead observation, but please do.” Nicky suddenly felt nervous, like the senses had started creeping back into him as he attempted to backtrack. “The Ancient Greeks called goddesses ‘cow-eyed’.”

Laughing tiredly, Joe ran a hand over his hair, compressing some of it backwards. “It’s a phrase in Arabic as well, _‘eyoun al-maha_.”

“Which word means ‘cow’?”

“Technically a _maha_ isn’t a cow, but an antelope. But they call them ‘wild cows’ for some reason.”

This reminded him of an earlier joking conversation between them. “Is it closer than a red panda? Or a catfish?”

His teeth flashed in a brief, relieved smile. “Closer than a prairie dog, or a pillbug.”

“What about pillbugs?”

“They’re not insects, they’re crustaceans, like lobsters.”

The still slow part of his mind registered that as mildly funny. “ _A Bug’s Life_ lied to us?”

“Oh, man, now there’s a movie I haven’t thought about in years.” Joe resumed sipping from his TARDIS mug. “Cow is _baqara_ by the way.”

“ _Baqara_ sounds like _vaquero_.”

“What’s a _vaquero_?”

“Supposedly where 'buckaroo' came from.”

Joe looked confused.

“Buckaroo,” Nicky said in a thick drawl. “You know, a cowboy?”

“Oooh.” A look of slow-setting comprehension came over Joe. “Sounds more like buckaroo came from _baqara_.”

“Could be. _Vaquero_ comes from _vaca_ though.”

When he raised his shoulders in a shrug, his lower lip curled out. “Looks like we have a linguistic chicken-or-the-egg situation.”

“How come?”

“There’s a lot of Arabic in Spanish since the days of Al-Andalus.”

Processing his minimal knowledge of Moorish Spain, Nicky came to what should have been an obvious connection. “Wait, is that why both Spanish and Arabic have the same word for ‘the’?”

“It is, among other things.” He rubbed at his forehead. “Reminds me of that time my cousin Sami was boasting about learning Spanish and I asked him to tell me the word for ‘rice’.” A rumbling chuckle moved his chest softly. “He had no idea what it was, despite it being nearly the same word in both Arabic and Spanish.”

“And it is?”

“ _Arroz_ in Spanish, _arz_ in Standard Arabic, _roz_ in his dialect.”

“That must have been embarrassing for him.”

“Probably was. Not that he’d admit ever being wrong or out of his depth.”

Nicky wanted to roll his eyes but they felt too heavy. “Sami should hang out with my cousin Enzo, they can be obnoxious ‘intellectuals’ together.”

“Judging by how our sisters got on, I think that getting two douches to befriend each other would be disastrous for our families.”

“Or they’d be at each other’s throats immediately,” Nicky suggested.

“Probably.” Joe drank more of his tea, prompting Nicky to do the same.

As he watched him lick his bottom lip, Nicky was hit with a vivid recollection of what seemed to have shifted his reality to begin with. The nightmare and how Joe had broken its hold on him.

“Nicky?”

“Why did you do it?” He asked, eyes on Joe’s mouth, his own voice foreign to his ears.

“Do what?”

“Kiss me this morning.”

The mug slipped through Joe’s loosened grip, thunking on the table and splashing out drops. “I—It was the only thing I could think of, to get you to…to…”

He stopped, mirroring Nicky’s earlier panic. “Did I upset you? Is that why you left?”

“No, not upset. Just confused.”

And wishing he was lucid enough to have enjoyed it when it was happening.

“I’m sorry, I acted without thinking.”

“It helped,” Nicky told him. “I was having an awful time and what you did helped.”

That softened him, cow-eyes back to consuming his attention. “I’m glad. You were in a bad state.” His hand came over Nicky’s leg, making his breath hitch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He really didn’t. Not today at least.

“Yesterday, you told me to trade with you. That if I told you how you were a catch, you’d tell me a truth you stopped withholding,” Nicky remembered. “You never told me what it was.”

What was he doing?

Joe’s hand left his leg. “I thought we substituted it with me telling you how you’re a catch.”

“We never agreed to that,” he pointed out, drinking more of his tea. “I’ll trade you my nightmare for something equally serious.”

“I don’t know if I have something equal to that.”

Well, he’d already gone this far with this topic. It was too late to change the subject and pretend they hadn’t touched on it. “I’d beg to differ if what’s happening to me—disassociating—happened to you.”

He opened his mouth and couldn’t seem to form a word.

Plastic slippers flapping on the floor announced Layla’s arrival. She had to be walking like that on purpose, finding the noise funny. It brought the first hints of a smile to his face today.

“Can we stargaze now?” she asked. “You said we could!”

“I thought you didn’t do that on school nights,” Nicky said.

Joe shut his mouth, getting up. “I sort of promised her that we could when you got back.”

He followed, curious. “Why?”

“Wanted to give her something to keep her calm til we found out what happened to you.”

Why were they so concerned about where he went or how he was? They barely knew him. He didn’t matter to them.

“That’s not true!” Joe nearly shouted. “Why would you even say that?”

Did he say that out loud?

Shit. Shit. Fuck!

Before they could get into it, Layla caught Nicky by his good arm and tugged him after her. “Come on, before he takes it back!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	8. Chapter 8

Layla led the way up the stairs, while Joe returned the mugs to kitchen and sounds of him tidying up trailed after them.

All her fingers were curled around just two of his. The comparison reinforced just how horrible it would have been if he hadn’t gotten between her and that monster that stepped on it with her before him.

Up past his room was a staircase that led to the roof.

Cool autumn air greeted them, as well as a wooden round table and matching lawn chairs with a telescope set up near the low wall bordering the roof. The neighborhood was quiet yet lit, he couldn’t remember being in a place that didn’t have the constant background noise of cars, people and the hum of machines.

“Where did you go?”

Startled, he looked down, finding her still holding onto him, hair darker in the nighttime lighting. “Many places.”

“Where?”

“First I went to a meeting, then I went to friend’s work, then I brought her to my dad’s house for dinner.”

“She met your family?”

“Yeah. It didn’t go how I hoped, but I’m glad she met them. I’d already met her mom.”

“Is she pretty?”

Nicky frowned down at her, meeting her curious eyes, pupils dilated in the dim lighting afforded by the lampposts, moon and stars. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

“I guess? I find her more cute than anything. Though it’s kind of weird how young she looks, she’s two years older than me.” He raised his left hand, bruises protesting faintly, to feel up his face. “Or I just look that rough.”

“You look sad,” she said bluntly. “Why?”

At a loss, he sighed as he sat on one of the chairs, when she followed, he made space for her to press up against him, setting his good arm over the back of the chair. She was so small, he regularly forgot just how little children was due to it being so long since he’d interacted with any. His half-siblings not counting.

He remembered what Joe said about feeling more like Jessie’s uncle than her brother.

“I’m not sure anymore, it’s more than one nothing, though most are related,” he said quietly. “Knowing why you’re sad doesn’t do much if you don’t know how to fix it.”

“I wish I could fix things like that.”

Why would she say something like that?

“Sometimes you just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Limits? Sometimes you shouldn’t want to fix stuff,” he said. “Sometimes you should move on to something different, which is what I’m trying to do.”

The door creaked behind them, announcing Joe’s arrival. “Aren’t you two cozy?”

Layla sat up immediately, hands outstretched. “Cocoa?”

Joe handed her a white cup with a unicorn’s face and horn sticking out the front. “With mini-marshmallows.”

 _“Merci,”_ she said in a sing-song tone.

“Thanks.” Nicky accepted his cup, topped with whipped cream. “How do you say ‘thank you’ in Arabic?”

Joe sat in the chair by them, stretching out with a small moan of relief. “Generally it’s _ashkorak_ which means ‘I thank you’. In my mom’s dialect it’s just _shokran_ —‘thanks’. And _ye’aishak_ in my dad’s, which is a bit much, now that I think about it.”

“What does it mean?”

_“May you live.”_

“So, it’s like ‘bless you’.”

“Kind of,” he agreed, considering it. “It’s _grazie_ in Italian, right?”

“It is. Which probably comes from _‘_ being gracious’?” Nicky sniffed his drink, a strong, somewhat bitter scent, not like the nauseatingly sweet powder Caterina made her hot coco with. “I feel like you know more about me than I do about you, be it personally or culturally.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure.”

Joe turned his head towards Nicky, smiling tiredly. “What do you want to know—within reason.”

He had a feeling that the reason was their eager-eyed company, watching them intently.

With his fingertips to her head, he gently turned it to face the sky. “Didn’t you want to stargaze? Gaze at the stars, not us.”

She made a comical grumbling noise, likely something she was mimicking from a cartoon. “I want to be the stargazer lily or have one with me.”

He really needed to get her some, a bouquet or a pot or whatever lilies came in.

“Maybe that’s what you can call your story,” Joe suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“You said your main character was going to be based on my Lily, then name her that, Stargazer Lily. Work into the sun theme, add a lot of celestial stuff.”

“That’s a great idea. What do you think?” he asked Layla, who nodded so hard she made him dizzy. “Okay, name, basis and aesthetic settled. What celestial stuff would you like?”

“That the constellations come to life and fight,” Layla said. “Like Hercules did with them.”

“And what do you know about Hercules?” he asked, eyeing Joe. “I don’t think I got the full story on him and other Classical heroes until I was older than you.”

“Think Disney’s _Hercules_ ,” Joe said. “More palatable that way.”

“If only they’d stop making Hades evil.”

“Yeah, but Hades was the best part.” He suddenly chuckled, staring into his mug distractedly.

“What?”

“Adam and I used to quote that movie, _Aladdin_ and _Emperor’s New Groove_ constantly.”

“ _Emperor’s New Groove_ is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Shame they never did anything like that again.”

“Really is. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, it still makes me laugh.”

“That’s settled then, some humor with a character being turned into an animal, and fighting star-monsters. Anything else?”

“Can I have a cat?” Layla asked.

“Are you going to be responsible for it?” Joe asked pointedly, sounding like this wasn’t the first or even third time they’d discussed it. “You have to feed, brush, and keep it company, pets aren’t toys.”

“I miss having a cat,” Nicky added a bit randomly, the mental exhaustion getting to him. “I had one since I was Layla’s age, we got him as a kitten. Died when I was away.”

Old sadness reignited and he felt his lower lip tremble as he remembered how Nonna had cried to him during a call about how sudden the cat had passed.

“What was it like?” Layla asked. “Did it have a cool name?”

“Not really, he was a tabby called Allegro, or Leggy, sometimes Leggles.”

Layla giggled. “Leggles.”

“What would be a cool name for a sidekick cat?”

She pointed up at the sky, drawing a horizontal line with her finger. “Orion!”

When he followed her line of sight, he found Orion’s belt. “Done.”

“What did we say about indulging her?” Joe chided, good-humored.

“This isn’t indulgence, this is letting her make some of the hard decisions so it’s not all up to me.” Nicky took a gulp of his drink, half-melted whipped cream covering his nose. “Your turn, tell me what the catch of the story is. What is the hero’s goal here?”

“Is this what you were like at school during group projects?”

“So, you admit this is a group project?” Nicky smiled into his mug at Joe’s stumped expression. “If it is, you’re not going to do what my classmates did and stick me with all the work, are you?”

“That’s what my classmates did to me. I’d do the whole thing and they’d just show up and stand there.”

“It always pissed me off how they got good grades thanks to my effort. It never even occurred to them to ask what they could do or if I was okay with it.”

“My mom would say that they’re bloodless.”

That was interesting way to phrase it. “Bloodless?”

“I’m translating,” Joe explained. “It’s a phrase, that to say someone who has no shame or empathy has no blood.”

“That’s pretty fitting, a lot of these people are like vampires.”

Joe pointed at him, excited. “Make that a monster in this universe, like a race of vampires or ghouls.”

“You know, every Halloween I hear the word ‘ghoul’ and I still have no idea what it is,” Nicky said. “Aside from the Batman villain Ra’s al-Ghul meaning ‘ghoul’s head’.”

Joe cringed. “Why do they keep pronouncing it like that? Where did the _sh_ in _Raysh al-Gool_ come from?”

“Straight from the source, how is it pronounced?”

“ _Ra-uss_ , short, vowels. The sound between the S and the R is a glottal stop. As for _al-ghoul_ , well, can you make that sound?”

Nicky tried making what had to be the _gh_ sound, coming out more as the guttural vibration of rolling a French R, but without touching his tongue to his teeth to make the R-sound. “Any good?”

“Could use some practice.”

“Isn’t _Ra’s Al-Ghoul_ a star?” Layla piped up, she now had a hot-cocoa mustache.

Joe wiped her mustache with his thumb. “Yes, there is. In the constellation of Perseus.”

The connection excited Nicky. “Is it Medusa’s head?”

“I think it is,” Joe said. “Don’t look so happy, it’s an unlucky star.”

“Unlucky stars? Those are a thing?”

“Uh-huh, why do think the phrase ‘thank your lucky stars’ exists?” Joe faced the sky, starlight brighter now, the nighttime lighting making his hair look inky-blue, like the black hair of comic book characters. “Though I can’t remember if that’s a thing in Western astrology? At least regarding Algol being a measure of your odds in battle or voyages.”

“I don’t know why, despite being aware of the Chinese zodiac, I always thought astrology was a kooky modern invention.”

Joe let out an exaggerated gasp of shock. “Don’t say that to my aunt Lobna, she takes this stuff very seriously. Kept making gripes about my mom being a Virgo and me being a Leo.”

Naturally, Nicky’s dumb brain decided “I missed your birthday?” was an appropriate response.

“Yeah, August tenth. Lily is August eighth, we share our parties,” he said proudly. “You?”

All Nicky could think of now was the picture of Joe holding the newborn Layla, how he overwhelmingly happy he looked. Must have been the best early-birthday present.

“January twenty-second.”

Joe considered that response for a bit. “Hmm, Aquarius? Makes sense.”

“Does it? How?”

“Quiet, a thinker, a little aloof, artistic, open-minded,” he listed. “And if I remember correctly, we’re compatible.”

“Sounds like this stuff is true for once,” he said. “What about you? All I can remember is that Leo is a Sun sign.”

“Sailor Sun!” Layla punched the air triumphantly. “Can I have a lion?”

“No, you just said you wanted a cat called Orion,” Joe told her. “Don’t be greedy.”

She pouted, but couldn’t maintain the sad-act for line as her pleased grin broke though. “Can there be a lion in the city? Or statues?”

“Ask Uncle Nicky, he’s drawing all this stuff.”

‘Uncle Nicky’ made his heart pulsate. “I guess. Or do you mean like a lion deity or something? Wasn’t there one in Ancient Egypt.”

“Sekhmet, goddess of war, was represented by the lion.”

“Represented or was she a lion?” Nicky was embarrassed to think that all he remembered about Egyptian mythology came from the _Mummy_ movies. Brendan Fraser at his peak as a swashbuckling hero…

Joe turned slightly on his side as he explained. “My mother’s ancestors didn’t believe the gods had animal heads, just represented by them in some aspect. Depicting them that way gave them the association of that animal’s traits or symbolism in general, like Horus being a falcon tied into his role as a sky god.”

“The Romans used the eagle for Jupiter for the same reason, I think? And the bull for Neptune?”

“Owl for Minerva and doves for Venus,” Joe added with a nod.

Layla’s arm came up so fast Nicky jerked, almost spilling some of his drink. “Venus!”

She pointed at a clear star in the sky, near the Moon.

“Is that a satellite?” He asked Joe. “It’s not twinkling.”

“No, she’s right, that’s Venus.” Joe tickled her under the chin, making her duck her head mid-giggle. “I almost named her for it.”

“Like the tennis player?”

“No—although if I had to name her after a tennis player it’d be Serena not Venus.” Joe pointed at the bright planet. “In Arabic, Venus is called _Zahra_ , which is also the word for ‘flower’.”

“Oh, yeah, you mentioned that people here would butcher it.”

Joe affected a nasally, stereotypically American accent as he mispronounced “Zaa-ruh,”, making Nicky snort. “Yeah, that had to become a middle name once my mom’s best friend pointed out that everyone would pronounce it like that.”

“But that’s a pretty cool two-for name, a planet and flower.” Nicky stroked Layla’s head softly, fondness filling him. “If we’re going the Magical Girl alter-ego route then maybe Stargazer Lily’s civilian name should be Zahra?”

“Yes!” she agreed. “The morning and evening star!”

“That it is,” Joe said. “Maybe that can be what makes her special, that she has the power of both the morning and evening light? Or is the only one with evening powers in her kingdom?”

“Maybe the Sun Kingdom are only powerful during the day and useless during a solar eclipse?”

“Could be that they’re attacked during an eclipse or a time where the sun is blocked by smoke clouds?” Joe suggested. “Is she getting a team or friends or an ally from the Moon or something?”

“I was thinking of making the Moon people like Ancient Rome. Is that okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Joe stopped mid-gulp, eyes widening as he let out a protesting _mmm!_ “What if they’re like werewolves? Wasn’t Rome founded by werewolves or am I confused?”

“Remus and Romulus were raised by a wolf and that kind of became the symbol of Rome for a while.”

That seemed to please him, as he reached over and gripped Nicky’s shoulder. “There we go, Roman Lunar people ruled by a King Romulus and maybe they have their side of the evening star thing?”

“Could be. Aeneas, who was one of the early founders of Rome and the ancestor of Remus and Romulus was the son of Venus,” Nicky pointed out. “Would be interesting if the Moon people were the descendants of Venus. Though I might call them something else, maybe use Italian instead of Latin?”

“Do the names change? How much is Italian like Latin?”

“Pretty different, but yeah, the names change. Romulus becomes Romolo, Aeneas is Enea and Venus is Venera.”

“Venera? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, it’s where ‘veneral disease’ comes from.”

Joe spat the last of his drink back into its mug. “What? Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I were.”

“What’s a veneral disease?” Layla asked.

“I hope you never find out,” Nicky said as Joe yelled, “I’ll explain when you’re older!”

“Interesting where names come from,” he commented, setting aside his mug.

“How’d you get Joe from Youssef?” Nicky knew the answer, but he wanted to hear him talk more.

“It’s just the Arabic version of Joseph. My sister Yasmina is Jessie, because jasmine. My uncle Jamal is Jimmy,” he listed out. “It’s trendy to have a foreign nickname, since a lot of our own are kinda childish on adults.”

“How do Arabic nicknames work?”

“Usually, you take a syllable and double it. Like my grandma Zeina was Zizi, my cousins Rima and Sami are Mimi and Simsim, and on the uneven front are my aunt and uncle Lobna and Wisam—Lola and Siso. Sometimes people will get creative, like my brother Adam was Dimo.”

Was. Everyone but the brother and grandparents were in present tense.

“My sister and I are Nico and Catia, our cousin Beatrice is Bice,” he offered. “To family at least. Everyone else calls us Nicky and Cat.”

Even in the dark, he could see his brows rise with surprise. “Wait, _Bey-ah-tree-cheh_ , is that how Dante’s Beatrice is supposed to be to be pronounced?”

Nicky nodded. “Unfortunately, she has to settle for Bee here because Americans pronounce Bice as Bitchy.”

He realized too late he’d said the word ‘bitchy’ in front of a child, but she didn’t seem to notice, having leaned back against him, facing the sky.

Joe cackled. “People mispronounce everything here, it’s astounding. For a nation of immigrants you’d think they’d know better.”

“Nope, my father has long given up and telling people ‘It’s pronounced _Saal-va-toh-reh_ not _Salva-torr_.’ And he still named me Nicolò instead of Nicholas.”

“I like Nicolò, it suits you,” Joe said softly. “What would my name be in your language?”

“Giuseppe.”

Joe’s eyes crinkled at the corners in a lighthearted cringe. “Right. Dumb question. Would I be Gio?”

“Gio is Giovanni—John. Giuseppe is Beppe.”

“Beppe, interesting.”

Nicky turned on his side, facing him fully. “What would mine be?”

“Nicola. Or do you mean as a translation?”

“Both. Italians also use Nicola.”

Joe smiled. “What does Nicolò mean?”

“According to my stepmother, who spent too long researching baby names, it’s from the Greek Nikolaos which is ‘victory of the people’.”

Joe hummed thoughtfully. “An equivalent could be Nasreddine, but that’s ‘victory of the faith’. Literally it’d be _Nasr-a-sha’b_ but that’s a title not a name. But as a name it’d be Nasir—victorious.”

“Nasir, it sounds important.”

“That’s the idea, I guess.” Joe’s face softened. “You feeling better?”

It was then that he remembered that the state he’d been in was earlier today. “Actually, I do.”

The hand near him went from his shoulder to brushing his face. “Good.”

What was he going to do about this?

Joe was clearly a tactile, affectionate person, but Nicky had a hard time keeping that in mind…but did he freely touch everyone like this?

It wasn’t like he’d been brought up in a touch-free community, his family mostly associated with other Italians, who hugged, kissed and touched frequently.

But it wasn’t like this. This soft, direct, and meaningful.

His inhibitions were looser than normal, and he just let himself lean into the touch, cheek against his palm.

“Looks like you both need to get to bed,” Joe said with a yawn.

Blinking away the drowsy confusion, he found Layla had fallen asleep on him, her arm on his stomach, head on his chest, which he could feel expanding to accommodate his swelling heart.

She looked so content. He hated to disturb her.

“Seal of approval,” Joe groaned, stretching as he stood.

“What do you mean?”

He held his hand out to the sleeping Layla. “Children, like cats, are usually good judges of character. We lose that as we’re socialized, taught to behave in certain ways, and excuse bad vibes or behavior to not cause trouble.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

Joe carefully lifted Layla off Nicky, holding her to his chest. “My mom can give you a lecture on how we’re taught to ignore our instincts, pretty messed up really.”

“Tell me about it. The amount of shit we need to look the other way for to avoid not just trouble, but punishment, is disheartening.” Nicky gathered their mugs on the tray and opened the door for Joe as they descended from the roof. “All about how we need to ‘suck it up’ and how ‘everyone else does this so it must be fine’.”

“How did you tolerate your post then?”

“By brainwashing, from them and myself,” he admitted miserably. “Have to be convinced it’ll eventually be worth it, whether helping others, or benefitting from it yourself. Only you get there and see what you’re supposed to do and it’s not easy to just get back out, especially when they dangle promises of care and provisions.”

“Predatory, I tell you.” Joe held onto the handlebar with one hand as they headed down to the ground floor. “My dad compares it to the Crusades sometimes.”

Nicky nearly missed a step. “Crusades?”

“Yeah, Westerners being gathered up and sent East by their moral authority, being fed lies and promises about their duty and impact, just to be canon fodder that isn’t just blown to pieces but destroys whoever they land on.” Joe headed into a space Nicky had yet to visit, but he followed, watching him set Layla in her bed.

It was a mildly cluttered room with white furniture with pink grooves in the wood, the bedspread was also white and covered in hearts in all shades of pink, opposing a little desk with a shelf covered in stuffed animals. Nicky could recognize Tigger from _Winnie the Pooh_ , the rainbow-maned blue pony from her cartoon, Donald Duck and the black cat from _Sailor Moon_.

Watching him tuck her in, turn off the lights and exit quietly, Nicky got sucked into the comparison Joe had made.

Had he participated in a modern crusade? Had he so mindlessly been a part of repeating history?

“Did I say something?” Joe asked, snapping him out of it. “You’re making that panicked face again. What is it? Tell me.”

“I’m…re-contextualizing my involvement.” Nicky took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I always thought that at least I was doing a good thing, helping the people there deal with the ones causing them suffering, but what you said…”

“I was talking mostly about Iraq. And Syria. And Libya,” Joe added. “All I know about where you were is that you were working alongside the country’s own armed forces, which is a little different than NATO threatening to bomb various parts of the East for not bending over for the Pentagon.”

“I still don’t understand what happened in Libya.”

Joe’s face embodied exhaustion. “Let’s not go there. I’ll be screaming til 3 am. My mom would go longer.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea, if only I—”

Joe shushed him, herding him away from Layla’s room and back into the kitchen. “Can we not? I can’t tell you how worn-out I am by this topic, it’s all anyone wants to talk about once they clock me.”

Nicky’s response to a term like ‘clock me’ was embarrassingly self-centered. He’d spent years terrified being suspected but he knew Joe meant something else.

“How come?”

Taking the mugs from Nicky and washing them, Joe’s back was tense. “People can’t really divorce us from that association, it’s always about the conflict that surrounds us, political or religious. They also seem to think that’s all we want to talk about too, and believe me, we don’t.”

“What happens exactly?”

“Uh, a recent example is when we went to a birthday party one of Lily’s classmates had and I sat on the ‘adults table’.” Joe faced him, shaking the water from his hands. “One of the guys there went for my throat the second I mentioned wanting to go back to Egypt soon.”

“Why?”

Joe raised a finger, urging him to wait. “Jackass thought taking one class on international relations or whatever made him an expert on the state of the Middle East, and he started grilling me about it.”

“Oh, God.”

“I kept trying to change the subject, because I’m tired of talking about it and getting polarizing reactions of all sorts of people who have no idea what they’re talking about, right?” Joe leaned against the island. “And he gets loud and reroutes us back to it, and keeps demanding I engage him and tell him how I think shit should go or what to do or tell him what my view was and _I’m not here for this_.” He let out a disbelieving laugh. “We’re at a children’s birthday party, I baked a chunk of the desserts, we’re here to have a good time and let the kids have fun and this jackass, who wasn’t even a parent, kept making the conversation about heavy subjects like this and getting self-righteous when we tried to keep it lighthearted.”

Joe rolled his eyes back and closed them, sighing out his frustration. “Then he got aggressive, slammed his hand on the table and yelled at me, straight-up demanding I engage him and tell him what should be done over there like— _I’m a baker!_ ” He threw his arms up. “Do I look like I’m in charge of Foreign Affairs to you? And he kept getting angry at me and accusing me of shit just because I didn’t want to talk about something that’s just talk to him but _real_ to me and tons I know.”

Nicky was in awe, in the worst way. “Literally what the fuck?”

“Right? That’s one of the instances that reinforced just how much of a concept I am to people, I’m not a person with my own life, likes, dislikes, problems and priorities,” he listed out, pressing down on his fingers to count. “I can’t deviate, I can’t be different, I can’t disagree, I have to be part of a hive-mind and represent hundreds of millions of people. It wasn’t enough that I got that from my own relatives and the people surrounding us growing up? I have to get this from other kinds of people as well?”

“You can’t be complex, how are they going to use you as a point in an argument to prove that they’re right?”

Joe groaned long and loud. “That’s probably it. To settle asinine debates or fuel excuses for their bullshit.”

Nicky had an unpleasant flashback to a family gathering in the backyard of his uncle’s home, where the second someone mentioned a gay nephew he was yanked into demeaning debates. “Do you get dragged into needlessly heated spats by smug assholes who think what you say is going to stump whoever they were bitching with?”

Joe groaned even harder, a cathartic sound Nicky connected with. “They really hate it when I give neither the answer they wanted to feel superior or right. Like, no, I don’t want to comment on every terrorist attack, or political turmoil, or social and religious issues. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. _I don’t want to_ , what are you going to do about that, huh?” He covered his face, heated, face flushing. “People get mad at me for not entertaining them, you know? I can see my value dropping in their eyes when I ruin the fantasy of whatever they were expecting to get from me.”

“You never had value to them because you weren’t real until you shocked them by expressing opinions or denying them,” Nicky said without thinking. “They’d appreciate you only if you served them, but even then you’d be something more like an appliance.”

Joe massaged his scalp, exhaling his frustration. “That’s probably it. This is why I didn’t want to go work in an office building, if these conversations and confrontations are inescapable in school and social gatherings, imagine what it’s like in a room full of people with degrees who fancy themselves cultured and worldly.”

“Most of those cultured, worldly graduates have no common sense, I’ve gotten my fair share of baffling questions over the years.”

Soothing, Joe grinned lightly, curious. “Like what?”

“Someone spent an hour arguing with me about English being a Latin language.”

Joe cracked, letting out a too-loud _HA!_ before clapping his hands on his mouth and checking behind him.

Shoulders shaking with restrained giggles, he faced him. “Can’t expect everything to tell the difference sometimes.”

“No, you don’t get it. This guy spoke German.”

Joe’s jaw dropped, amusement born out of amazement twinkled in his eyes. “No way.”

“He did, and he never saw the similarities between it and English. He kept arguing with me, about what a Romance language was. _Me._ ” Nicky made an exasperated noise. “I actually know some Latin, I speak Italian and can understand Spanish and French to some degree, so I’m the best person to tell you that English is not a Romance language but Germanic. But this guy went to private school and _spoke German._ ”

“The jokes really do write themselves sometimes.” He seemed to be releasing his tension in small laughs. “Had a similar experience where a guy tried to be clever with me and asked me to translate something for him, sliding it over to me on a paper in front of everyone. I’m guessing it was some fundamentalist manifesto he expected me to agree with.”

“What happened?”

“I turned it to face them all and said, ‘You know, I’d really love to help you out but I don’t speak Urdu, which is what this language is’.” Joe moved on to massaging his brows. “Imagine his shock when I told him that I was North African, from a completely separate continent, there is literally no room for confusion here.”

“Please tell me everyone laughed at him.”

“They did, he could never confidently be obnoxious ever again.” He cocked his head, looking at him with a small, amused smile playing at his lips. “Tell me more dumb stuff.”

“Would it make up for opening this subject?”

He clicked his teeth, shaking his head dismissively as he approached. “I don’t mind talking to you about it, I’m venting really.”

“Vent all you want,” he breathed as Joe came to set his hands on his arms.

“Anymore I’ll get too worked up to sleep.” He blinked slowly, making a show of his lashes as he smiled tiredly, almost fond. “So, tell me something stupid.”

“A friend of my dad’s, Reggie, said he thought I turned out this way because my mother left when I was young,” he spluttered, licking his dry lips. “So, he psychoanalyzed me as having a hatred of women because of my abandonment issues. Pseudo-Freudian nonsense if you ask me.”

Joe stared at him, puzzled. “This way?”

Did he…did he not…?

Time to bite the bullet.

“You know I’m gay, right?”

Joe’s hands dropped from his shoulders and Nicky wanted to bang his head on the counter.

“Oh,” he said in a small voice, eyes wide.

Definitely had never been flirting with him. It may have felt like a gut-punch, but it was good to know for sure now so he could give up.

Nerves hitched up, he saw no use in playing it cool. He’d had a bad day, he could be as pathetic as impulse demanded. “Is this going to make things awkward now? Do you want me to go?”

Joe rushed back in, gripping his arms so hard he had no choice but to stay still. “No! I’m just—I don’t know, but don’t! Don’t think anything like that, please.” He searched Nicky’s face, an undercurrent of panic wafting off him like heat from a closed oven. “I wasn’t sure. You never mentioned a girlfriend, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“Well, now you know.”

“Now I feel more comfortable about leaving my daughter alone with you.”

That pulled a tired, nervous cackle from him that fizzled out quick as he avoided his face. “There’s always that.”

“Hey, look at me.”

He didn’t want to. He was dealing with the slow-setting horror of what he’d just done.

This always changed things. It changed things between him and guys he’d grown up alongside, even ones he was related to, why wouldn’t if with someone he wasn’t sure he’d call a friend?

“Nicky.”

They’d finish this week and part, never to be in contact again. Because that would be the nice way to do things. It’s what decent people like Joe did—ghosting rather than confronting.

This was stupid. He could have gone with any stupid anecdote from his past. Literally anything. About explaining to his stepmother Teresa that foxes and dogs couldn’t cross-breed despite her insistence. Telling his father that birds were dinosaurs and getting an argument built on refusal that _Jurassic Park_ could be ruined by a T-Rex with feathers. Telling his Nonna that Czechoslovakia didn’t exist anymore. That time he got in trouble for talking back to a teacher who couldn’t tell the difference between Libya and Lebanon! Anything!

Literally anything! He was an idiot! Stupid! So stupid! Why couldn’t that fucking Jeep have just crushed him—

_“Nicolò.”_

The commanding tone made him look up in time to be pulled into a hug.

Mindless, he didn’t even try fighting the embrace, sagging against him.

Joe rubbed his back comfortingly. “Yeah, you definitely need to sleep.”

“Don’t know if I can.” He whispered, honest with exhaustion. “I’m afraid I’ll have that dream again. You should knock me out, I deserve it.”

“What the fuck, Nicky.” He pulled back, but kept a grip on Nicky’s wrist. “Okay, I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He’d considered it.

“I won’t.”

Joe turned the kitchen lights off and led him out. “You sure sound convinced.”

“Think I’m too tired to do anything too bad.”

“That’s not the answer you should be giving me.” He stopped in the circular hallway, warningly pointed at him before he dipped into his room. “Stay here.”

There he remained until Joe reemerged with his phone in hand. “Have to get up early, so I might disturb you.”

“What do you mean?”

Joe hustled him up the stairs to his room. “Did I wake you up today? When I left?”

“No, when I woke up you were gone, but I’m used to that.”

He bit his tongue way too late.

Inside the room, Joe shut the door as Nicky faced him, palms sweaty. “I always heard from women that guys would take off fast, I wasn’t sure if they did this to each other.”

“They do. It’s expected. If you get attached you’re stupid. Even more so these days.”

“That’s one of the reason I’m having such a hard time ‘getting back out there’.” He came around the bed and pulled back the covers of the left side, making alarms blare in Nicky’s bed. “Most are after hookups or casual things. I can’t do that, especially not now.”

It just hit him what Joe meant by not leaving him alone tonight.

Getting into his side, heart too loud, he asked, “Why especially now?”

“I have a child and am working on expanding my business, I have no time for someone who’s in a flighty phase in their life. Who can’t take me and my family seriously.” He pointed aimlessly. “See, this is one thing Sébastien and I bonded over. He can’t find anyone, not one that’d take him, the stress of his work and his three nephews.”

“Nile would,” he blurted out.

Joe made an uncertain noise. “I don’t think Nile understands what she’d get with Sébastien.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning what young, surely traumatized person still finding their place in the world wants to become a stepparent to kids that already developed before you came into the picture?”

…?

“I think you’d be surprised.” The delirium of exhaustion must be setting in, because he thought he was funny. “She calls them Huey, Dewey and Louie, so she clearly wants to be the Daisy to his Donald Duck.”

Joe shut his eyes as he bared his teeth in a not-quite laugh, a rumble of disbelief. “Now that’s a family Halloween costume I’d like to see.”

“I might draw them like that.”

“Include the rest of us as Mickey and friends.”

“Would that make you two Goofy and Max?”

He needed to bite his tongue hard enough to puncture the muscle.

Joe rested his head on the pillow, now on his side. “That’s…have I ever had her watch _A Goofy Movie_? I don’t think I have. I should get on that, I used to love that movie.”

“You should.”

He hummed. “Not a lot of single-dad stories out there, not ones about them being competent parents at least.”

“Want me to make Layla’s character just have a dad?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He grew quieter, contemplative. “You said there needed to be more stories about uncommon families. People out there need to see that there people like you, in every aspect, not just what they expect from the news or as strawmen in their shitty playground political debates.”

“Playground politics, I’m stealing that.” Joe patted the center of the bed. “You going to stay on the edge all night?”

“I can sleep on the floor, I’ve done that a lot—”

“Nicky.” Joe tapped the space before him firmly. “Come here.”

Feeling cornered and confused, he pitifully wheezed, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Only way you could do that is if you gave me a wet-willy. Or dumped water down my back.”

“Don’t like feeling slippery, do you?”

“Not beyond where I’m meant to be wet or sweaty,” he said with a wink that made Nicky feel like he’d been jabbed in the neck.

“Like where?”

“The sea, gym, shower, or our kitchen on summer days.”

“Just those places?”

Joe wagged his eyebrows. “Where else would you like?”

This felt like a trap.

“Doesn’t matter where I’d like, you won’t be there.”

“What makes you say that?” He cocked his head at him, curious. “You’re not afraid of the water are you?”

“No, it used to be an effort to get me out of the pool.”

“Do you burn or tan?”

“Both. Depends.”

“Okay, if we have a beach day next year, I’ll remember to stock up on sunblock.”

Beach day. Next year.

“We’re going to still see each other next year?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Joe stopped trying to urge him closer. “Did I give you the impression that we wouldn’t?”

“To be honest, I have no idea what’s going on here. You’re guesting me because you feel guilty about the one time you didn’t watch the kids while you were working, which is a little ridiculous if you ask me, you were working. And I was distracting you with my godawful design—”

“It just needed some work.”

“Give me a break, Youssef, I drew a dick.” Nicky flopped back onto his pillows. “I drew a dick and now you know why.”

“In retrospect, that makes it a little funnier, but I’m not pinning the blame of the kids being stupid on either of us.” He set his hand on Nicky’s arm. “It happened, I hope they’ve learned not to pull something like that again. But that’s not what this is about.”

“Hey, look at me—look at me!” He gripped Nicky’s jaw and forced him to face him. “Whatever self-deprecating track you’re in, I know it’s hard to fight but let me give you a fact that can help: I like having you here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He prompted Nicky to move in closer by pulling on his shoulder. “Now let us go to sleep so I don’t wake up cranky.”

“You sure you want to do this?” Nicky resisted a little. “I can sleep on the floor I’m serious.”

“I didn’t bring you here to make you uncomfortable.” Joe moaned tiredly. “Dude, what is it? Why are you being so weird?”

“Why aren’t you? You did hear me downstairs, right?”

“Fuck, that’s what this is about?” He roughly turned Nicky onto his side and reached over him to shut off the light. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow, right now I want to sleep.”

“I’m just warning you.”

He settled behind him. “Think if anyone’s in danger of being molested in their sleep it’s you. I’m a bit of an octopus.”

For some reason, that made him smile. “If you say so.”

“This okay?” Nicky felt his weight against him, warmth coming through their shirts as an arm came over his waist. “It seemed to soothe you this morning.”

He set his hand over the one on his stomach. “Yes.”

Joe relaxed behind him, breath on his nape. “How do you say goodnight?”

_“Buonanotte.”_

_“Tesbah ‘ala kheir.”_

And at that, he was out like a light.

It didn’t stop the nightmares from coming for him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	9. Chapter 9

“I’m sorry,” he said to Joe at 6 a.m.

They’d been awake for about an hour, yoghurt, granola and fruits between their tea mugs on the breakfast nook.

“It’s not usually a nightly thing.”

Joe, hair a mess, twists of bloodied tissue in his nostrils, mumbled, “Stop apologizing.”

He stirred his yoghurt to busy himself. “But I disturbed you.”

“You were disturbed too, it’s not your fault.”

Still unsure what to do with that response, he started shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth. “Joe, I could have broken your nose.”

“I’ve gotten worse nosebleeds from tennis balls, and those are the last balls I wanted on my face.”

Nicky almost swallowed the spoon.

Joe’s laughter lines were all accounted for. “Is that what happens? Do they get on your face when you blow a guy? I can’t remember what my ex used to do, I was too busy to pay attention.”

This was so out of left-field it shook the remains of sleep from him. “What kind of a question is that?”

“One among many I’ve always wanted the answer to, but never had anyone to ask.” Propping his chin on his elbow, he pinned him with his eyes, morning light from the gaps between the shutters above Nicky bringing out their clear brown, chestnut shells. “What feels weirder, circumcised or uncircumcised?”

Was he trying to make him uncomfortable? Was this some kind of game?

If it was, fine, he’ll play.

“If I’m horny enough to think letting a guy fuck my face is a good idea then the last thing I’m thinking about is if it’s cut or uncut.”

“Is it always rough enough to be face-fucking?”

“Depends, not just on the mood but the situation you’re in. Hookups are usually quick and dirty.”

“Was this all, you know, back there?”

“Some was here.”

“You just hookup, no boyfriends?” Joe didn’t seem to blink as he watched him. “You let guys you date rough you up or is that something for ones you’ll never see again?”

His arm pulsated with resurgent pain as flashes of the nightmare pushed to the forefront of his mind. Of Keane blowing his brains out.

“Why all the questions?”

Joe looked up at him, biting his full, lower lip. “I’m curious.”

He wanted to die. He really wanted to die right now. Some _Loony Tunes_ cartoon-fuckery better manifest right now and run him over with a train, because he wanted to drop dead on the spot because _what the fuck was going on?_

“Are you having such bad luck with women that you’re giving up?”

“Not giving up, just wondering how other relationships work. And maybe if I’m missing out on something I need.”

“Like what? Arguing with someone who can kick your ass?”

“Do I want to know why your mind went there?”

“Because that’s what I usually got.”

Humor fled his face. “The nightmares, do you want to talk about them?”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“You almost broke my nose. Least you can do is tell me what did it.”

His appetite was officially gone.

“It was the same as the day before.”

“And it was?”

“My ex putting me down like a dog.” He made a pistol-shape with his hand and stuck the two fingers of the barrel in his mouth, curling his thumb to pull the trigger. “In real life, he just left me to die. In these dreams he actually kills me.”

“He…he left you?” Joe rasped, breathing short, shallow breaths. “To die? After an accident? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Joe looked like he was going to be sick. “Did he ever get punished for it?”

“I don’t think anyone knows. I haven’t heard of him since.”

Something akin to anger tightened his features. “You have to report him. He has to pay, he has to be held responsible.”

“How’s that gonna go?” Nicky was unsettled by the topic, he wanted out of it. “Anyone I tell won’t believe me. If they ask him he’ll just say he thought I was dead. End of story.”

“But you almost died! He should admit he never tried to help you out.”

“Joe, drop it.”

“No, I won’t, not when you keep having nightmares about this.”

“No one will take it seriously, we died all the time over there, they expect us to.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“That’s the way it is, I should have known that what I signed up for.”

“You were a kid.”

“Doesn’t matter, I still went.” He palmed his face, nausea creeping up. “You know what’s something I never think of too much? All the guys I knew that died, including the ones that were with me in the car.” He made tentative eye-contact, acid reflux splashing in his throat. “If I think about them, I start to wonder why I didn’t go with them. Think that’s why I keep dreaming of him killing me, because I feel like I should have died at that point.”

“Nicky…”

“Part of me hoped that I’d be killed in a way my family could rationalize as a good thing.”

“Why?” Joe asked in a small voice. “Why did you want that?”

The sickening feeling was amplified now, making it hard to sit up straight. “Because I hate myself. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Joe shifted closer, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “No. I want to know why you thought suicide-by-service was a good idea.”

“Life just sucked.”

“Elaborate.”

“You really want to hear me whine? It all sounds very stupid coming from an adult.”

Joe pressed a kiss to the side of his head, making him feel the urge to cry. “Yes.”

Sighing, he began to summarize, “I was having a crisis of faith coupled with the fact that the first guy I got involved with screwed me over, pretty much told the whole school. Which meant I had no friends and a lot of tormentors, and it wasn’t like I was already having a great time in school.”

He got worked up as old feelings resurfaced, fresh and painful as tearing off a scab. “Plus my family was having financial trouble since the recession, and my dad’s business with his brothers hadn’t recovered yet so he switched careers. And he’d just started a new family that he needed to worry about, while Catia had our grandmother, I had no one. Especially after I told them I was gay.” He rested his head on Joe’s shoulder. “So, I thought I needed to get out of here, spare them the disappointment, arguments and cost and go. Go where they wanted boys like me, where I’d either get my expenses paid for or be put out of my misery.”

Nicky’s eyes burned with unshed tears, it was getting hard to be breathe. “No one wanted me around, and I thought I’d solve my problems by fucking off.”

“Is that why you stepped in front of that car? You wanted it to kill you?”

“Honestly, yeah. I didn’t think too much of it in the moment but looking back, I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, spare her and end me.”

He pulled Nicky closer, mouthing against his cheek. “I’m glad you’re still here, that you didn’t die both times. I want you to know that.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

“I mean it.” Gently, he tipped Nicky’s face up and kissed his forehead, a touch so meaningful it made the boiling saltwater hurting his eyes pour down his face as he softly sobbed in hitched breaths. “If I ever see that ex of yours I’m going to bake him into a meat pie.”

“No one deserves to eat him. They’d get sick.”

“Feed him to other people that made you feel this way.”

“Good strategy, Mrs. Lovett.”

They stayed that way, half-embracing, Nicky’s crying winding down as his breathing leveled.

He never wanted this to end.

But when the sound of Layla’s alarm clock rang through the walls, they had to break apart.

“You’re coming to work with me today,” Joe stated, no room for argument. “Go get your stuff, you’re going to sit and work on your comic or our logo and eat whatever comes out a little tough or singed.”

Wiping at his face, he headed upstairs. “Sounds good.”

By the time he washed his face and got ready, Layla was in her uniform, bag packed, hair in a plait, and eating her cereal. When she spotted him, she raised her arms, beaming brightly. “Morning!”

He bent down to accept the hug and kiss the top of her head. “Morning. Did you dream of the stars?”

“No, but I dreamed of a rabbit this big!” she extended her arms sideways to encompass the size. “It was as big as me.”

“There are rabbits that size, Flemish I think they’re called.”

Joe returned, dressed, sans the bloodied tissues in his nose, clean-shaven. “There are?”

“Yeah, they’re like the rabbits that drag Radagast the Brown’s sleigh.”

Layla looked up between them. “Who’s that?”

“A wizard from Middle-Earth,” Joe told her.

“Can we have rabbits in the Sun Kingdom?” she asked Nicky.

“Desert rabbits are usually very tiny,” Joe told her. “Maybe they can be from the Moon? Isn’t that a thing in China or Japan?”

“Japan. Nile says that’s what _Sailor Moon_ ’s name means ‘rabbit of the moon’.”

Layla tapped the table. “Moon people have big rabbits.”

Nicky bowed to her. “As you wish, my princess.”

“Now, before she can talk you into adding characters from _My Little Pony_ , she needs to go to school.”

Layla made reluctant noises, and Joe nudged her out of her chair. “I know, I know.”

Into Joe’s car they went, dropping Layla at a building that raised Nicky’s brows.

“An international school?” he asked as they pulled back onto the main street.

“My dad insisted on a place that taught French. Said she already speaks English as an American and we’re teaching her Arabic at home,” Joe said. “Between you and me, I think he wants to avoid another Jessie, he’s not happy about her refusing to be multilingual.”

“What a funny way to rebel. You ever do anything like that?”

“I think it was way past time for rebellion and more about me having a bit of a breakdown, but being a baker was the last thing they wanted. You?”

“I didn’t go into seminary school.”

Joe spared him a baffled glance before returning his eyes to the road. “As in you were going to be a priest?”

“Yep.”

“That explains the ‘crisis of faith’ bit you mentioned.” Joe drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as they slowed into traffic. “How did your family take it?”

“Me not going? Or me being gay?”

“Both?”

“Not well, initially. My dad has pretty much accepted it by this point, I think it’s because he has three other children, namely another son he can now pin his hopes on. And he found out one of his long-time, former business partners was gay, so the idea is less foreign to him now.” He rested back, hugging his backpack. “My stepmother kinda gets it, but I only talked to her about it once. She made a weird joke about wanting her kids to have a ‘phase’ in school so they can avoid worrying about teen pregnancy.”

“That’s one upside to it, I guess.”

“Think my grandma was really happy about the idea of having a priest in the family,” he said tiredly. “Like she still loves me and everything, but I could tell she was hoping Nile was my girlfriend.”

“Man, if it’s still such a big deal here, I dread to think what it would be like in my parents’ part of the world.” He tensed slightly. “Where it’s illegal and ‘immoral’ and you can get jailed or killed for it, or both. If not at least ostracized.”

The sickening feeling from earlier was back. “Can we go back to talking about your sister not learning French?”

“You’d think she’d at least learn Spanish instead but no,” Joe switched his tone, lighter now. “Some days I wonder if her English is even any good, can’t remember the last time I saw her reading a book. She’s always on her phone when she should be working, I might start taking it away from her when her shift starts.”

“I haven’t finished a book in years.”

“You had the _Iliad_ in your stuff, you rereading it for pleasure or to ease yourself back into reading?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes, when I’m very stressed or upset and I want a distraction, I watch something I’m already familiar with or have seen a dozen times before, or I read a book I’ve had for a while. It’s an easier task to commit to.”

“No surprises, because you don’t need even that kind of stress.”

“Exactly.”

“Guess that’s what I’ll be doing then. Skimming through all Agamemnon’s bullshit to get to the bits where Achilles is being a brat.”

“Agamemnon was insane, just the thought of what he did to his daughter makes me want to crawl into the book and fight him.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Turn him into a meat pie and feed him to the other Achaeans.”

“That’d be your version of the Trojan Horse then? They think it’s mutton and it turns out to be him instead?” Nicky watched as they progressed slowly through traffic, taking in the sidewalks covered in dead leaves, the people in heavier clothes, some walking dogs. “What would the reaction have been from the gods that were at Troy? Think Zeus would not be happy with that, after what he did to Tantalus.”

“Surprised there aren’t more myths about cannibalism.” Joe sped up as traffic unfolded. “Oh, did I tell you what a ghoul was? I can’t remember if I did yesterday.”

“You didn’t, we got sidetracked.”

“Yeah, we do that a lot,” he chuckled softly, making Nicky’s heart hum. “A ghoul is a demon that eats the flesh of the dead.”

“Kinda like a zombie?”

He stuck out his tongue in concentration as they turned the corner and headed down an emptier street. “In that category, sort of.”

“That’s going in the story then, something to fight.”

Joe made an approving noise. “Ghouls born from black holes, consuming everything even the dead.”

“Done.”

Parking across the street from the Aubergenie, they entered to find it in the process of opening, Nile’s mother and a young man he assumed to be Lykon filling the showcase.

Joe had Nicky sit on the table at the back, by the window. When he pulled out his pencils and sketchpad, Joe scanned the concepts from over his shoulder. “Man, I can’t wait to see how that all comes together.”

“Me too, because I don’t think I’ll believe it can be done until I draft the first panel.” Nicky flipped onto the page with the Aubergenie logo concepts. “Though I should probably work on this, given the environment.”

Joe jabbed his thumb behind him. “If you have any questions I’ll be in there.”

“Don’t tempt me, I’ll be in there every hour to bother you and sample what you’re making.”

He grinned. “Good, it’ll keep me entertained.”

Dimples. He had dimples under that dark facial hair.

Nicky was going to melt into a puddle on this chair.

After bringing him a mint-lemonade, Joe and Patricia headed back, leaving Lykon to move about the room, humming along to the song from his earbuds as he set the chairs right-side up and arranged them around the tables.

Was he listening to Britney Spears’ _Oops, I Did It Again_? It sure sounded like it.

When he came by Nicky he jerked with a squeaking gasp. “Oh, I didn’t see you there. When did you come in?”

“With Joe.”

“Oh, so you’re not a customer,” he said with relief. “I would have hated to tell you to come back later or wait or something, because not much is ready yet. We open at eight.”

“I’m here to work for them, sort of.” Nicky showed him what he was working on, a new attempts at the eggplant genie vessel, now an upright bottle than a lamp. “Trying to make their branding symbol.”

Lykon, returning to arranging the chairs, stared at him from over his shoulder. “You’re the guy that got run over?”

“You could say that.”

“Oof, how’re you doing?”

“Honestly? Not too good.” Nicky played with his pencil, channeling his urge to fidget into his fingers. “Think the incident rattled my brain a little, I feel like I’m regressing back to where I was late last year when I got back.”

“Got back from…?” Lykon paused thinking. “Nile brought you here, didn’t she?”

“She do that a lot?”

“Sébastien ought to give her a cut of the proceeds for all the free advertisement she does for this place.”

“He can spend it on dates for them.”

Lykon let out a crackling laugh, head thrown back. “God, I love how it’s obvious to everyone but them. Priceless, really.”

“Think we should give them a stronger nudge? Nile told me she had dinner with him and the kids, but I can’t tell if that counts as a date or not.”

“Tell you what, we’ll ambush her when she comes in today. If it doesn’t work, I’ll lock them in a closet together.”

“Are people usually this invested in their boss’s love life?”

Lykon clicked his tongue, an off-handed noise. “Maybe if you like your boss, and your co-worker, and think they’ll be happy. But—” he righted the last chair, dusting his hands together with finality. “It’s also fun. Most entertainment I’ve had in ages is watching them dance around each other. Seeing him save her the stuff she likes and telling customers they’d sold out, and her cramming French just to come talk to him. Sometimes I think she mispronounces things on purpose so he can take time walking her through it.” Lykon’s shoulders shook with giddiness. “It’s hilarious. Some romcom-level stuff my mom would love.”

“I’d get second-hand embarrassment if I didn’t find that adorable.”

And if he didn’t see himself doing the same thing in the alternate reality where Joe was gay and had been flirting with him. He would have come in, rattling off Broken Arabic that would get him Joe’s undivided attention.

“Same, if they were anyone else I’d be gagging.” Lykon headed back behind the counter, arranging and filling stuff like sugar packets and straws. “Though if they take any longer to get it together, I may have to bake them a set of muffins and write JUST KISS ALREADY on them in some gross icing.”

“A letter on each cupcake?”

Lykon gave him finger-guns. “You know it.”

“You don’t like icing?”

Lykon pulled an unenthusiastic face. “Think icing and fondant ruin good cakes, and it’s a good thing Joe agrees with me because the smell of that stuff makes me want to—” he mimed vomiting. “Don’t know why. I used to love that stuff, would eat icing straight out of the container. Lots of stuff I used to like just lost it’s appeal.”

“Like it turns to ashes in your mouth, or makes you want to hurl?”

“Mostly the latter. My grandpa is not pleased with me avoiding his cooking now.” Lykon held his hand up to his cheek, as if tryin to block his voice as he stage-whispered. “I think he was just never that good. I just ate like a garbage disposal as a kid.”

Though Nicky could tell Lykon was around his age, he seemed younger, brighter with an easy smile that took up half his face, like a crescent moon against the contrast of his dark skin, and firm, squared cheekbones and small eyes mirrored Nicky’s exhaustion but not his sadness.

How was he so positive? How did he do it?

“Our stomachs are something else at that age.”

“Even at our age now, I see a lot of guys eating some messed up combinations and quantities as if it proves something.” He shuddered. “Now that I’m back and trying to watch my health and stuff, I think I just can’t convince myself that some stuff is worth the calories, even if it’s made with love.”

“In my experience, ‘made with love’ is just code for lots of olive oil and butter.”

“Which can be good, don’t get me wrong.”

“I agree,” Nicky said. “But time and place, sort of.”

“And it depends on the food. Just because you can deep-fry a Mars Bar doesn’t mean you should.”

Nicky pulled a face. “That sounds pretty gross, not gonna lie.”

Lykon held his stomach, tongue half out in an expression of being either full or about to hurl. “The shit I put in my body, I can’t even tell you. Maybe it’s a good thing I got hit in the gut, so I could stop abusing it.”

The way he so casually phrased it make Nicky’s eyes bulge. “Did it cause any damage?”

“There’s some scarring, it’s mostly in the muscle and skin, but still. New lease on life and all that.” He stopped, rerouting to earlier topic to Nicky’s relief. “I’m just saying, eggs have no business swimming in butter, and pancakes drenched in the oil are not good for you first thing in the morning, Pops.” Lykon fluttered his lips like a horse, expelling frustration. “But you know, old dog, new tricks. Good thing I’m changing my habits starting now because we have a family history of diabetes.”

That tickled Nicky, he couldn’t resist an instant fondness towards this guy. “You work in a bakery.”

“But it’s the good stuff!” He defended. “Good ingredients, practically homemade, healthier than the packaged stuff that has God knows what kind of black magic keeping it edible for months on end on the shelves. And you know what I noticed?”

“Black magic,” he echoed, amused by the idea. “What did you notice?”

“The more you spend around this stuff, the less appealing it gets.” He presented the display case. “You see and smell enough of this stuff and you feel like you already ate it a dozen times. You get sick of it.”

“I’ll bet, smelling sweet stuff a lot must be sickening.”

“Speaking as someone who hasn’t been here that long and only works part-time, it is. Especially all those syrupy Middle Eastern sweets.” Lykon pointed at a few in mention in the showcase. “Must be why Joe is so fit, he gets no temptation from it.”

That last bit gave Nicky the terrible excuse of reimagining how Joe’s body felt pressed up against him, firm, strong arms.

This had gone from an embarrassing admiration to a worrying fixation, it was going past the vicinity of a crush and into uncharted territory of what he’d never felt towards any other man.

Their idle chatting continued until the bell atop the door announced Sébastien’s arrival.

“Morning! How’s the rugrat?” Lykon greeted cheerily.

“Pierre is good, he’s now enrolled in a new daycare,” Sébastien said triumphantly, taking off his coat. “This one requires all children to be vaccinated, so I hope we’ll be spared any surprises.”

He paused when he spotted Nicky, who waved at him awkwardly from by the counter. “Hey, hope you don’t mind me hanging out here today.”

Sébastien’s response was to advance on him in a bear-hug. Nicky could only set his hands on his back, mind quiet with confusion.

“Hi?”

Sébastien pulled back, cupping Nicky’s face in his large, thick hands. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t finish the logo yet,” he blurted.

Mirth ignited in his close-set eyes, a dark-blue Nicky had initially taken to be a murky green or hazel. “You spared us a tragedy, something Joe and I have had enough of.”

What did that mean? Nicky knew how Sébastien had ended up with his nephews, but he didn’t know how that related to Joe.

Right. Layla’s mother. Someone Joe never brought up and had no pictures of.

“I…thanks?”

He laughed off Nicky’s awkward response, stepping back behind the counter. “Think that scare will teach my boys to behave now, or at least check when they cross the street. But you’re all right, yes? Nothing broken?”

Nicky rolled up his sleeve, baring the bruises, now venturing into purple and blue. “Seems so. A miracle really, since parts of it broke before.”

“It can depend on what position you were in,” Lykon said. “Getting hit can have varying levels of damage depending on how you were standing.”

He remembered covering Layla with his body, bending down to curl around her, so that might have been it. He was bracing for the impact and compact.

Not that Nicky knew anything about physics to explain how any of this stuff worked.

“Come, sit. You can have whatever you want from the vitrine.”

Nicky retook to his spot the window, mouthing “Vitrine?” over Sébastien’s shoulder at Lykon, who pointed to the case.

“I, uh, pick something for me?”

“As you wish.” Sébastien headed off and returned with a warmed cheese croissant as Nicky shaded the logo and the font of the shop’s name, ready to present the concept.

“Oh, I get it,” Sébastien said, eyeing the sketch. “An aubergine oumoum.”

“Tell me if it looks weird or…suggestive.”

“Suggestive?”

“You know,” Nicky tried getting his point across with his tone, but it didn’t seem to occur to him.

Lykon appeared over Sébastien shoulder. “Is that a bowling pin?”

“It looks a little like that, yes,” Sébastien agreed. “But that’s how some bottles are shaped as well.”

That was good. It didn’t bring dicks to mind. He could move on now.

“How about the font?” He tapped it with his pencil. “Should I include the symbol of the ‘aubergine oumoum’ as the B in Aubergenie or not?”

“I think that’s a clever idea, but that will depend on execution once you color it and have it stand out against a background, preferably white,” Sébastien said. “But overall, I’m loving what I see.”

That eased the knot in his chest. “Great.”

Lykon gave him a thumbs-up.

Soon the first customer came in, for breakfast to-go, followed by a student here to edit an essay and someone who worked from home. As noon came by, Nicky was fine-tuning his design with shading and doodling idea for the _Stargazer Lily_ comic. Once two o’clock came around, Joe re-emerged, sweaty and shaking water off his hands.

“Ready to go pick her up?” He asked. “I might have to drop you two off at home, Lykon is clocking out so I’ll need to be back.”

“That’s fine.”

“I also might need to do some shopping in between the pick-up and drop-off.”

“Sounds good.” Nicky packed his stuff away quickly, only leaving the sketchpad to show Joe what Sébastien approved. “It’s not phallic, is it?”

Joe stifled a snort, covering his mouth. “No, not this time.”

He let out whistling breath of relief, escalating Joe’s snort to a giggle as he led him out, hands on his shoulders.

Nicky felt like he was going to melt under his touch, and the feeling didn’t go away when they were in the car, bouncing ideas back and forth for the comic, or dim when they picked Layla up from her school.

It only faded slightly when she rushed off to get a shopping cart, making both Joe and Nicky rush after her.

After placing her in the cart and giving her Nicky’s phone to play with, he and Joe shared a look, a transference of worry.

“You okay?” he asked him.

Joe stuck his fingers in his sweat-damp hair, separating the curls. “I am. Just. My first thought when she left my sight that fast, in a parking-lot…”

“Me too,” he said. “Can’t trust other drivers, even in small spaces like this.”

He rubbed Nicky’s back. “Welcome to the world of helicopter-parenting, where every sound or move is a threat.”

As jokey and off-handed as that was, relating parenting and Layla made his heart leap.

Layla deserved two parents that adored her, and the indulgent part of Nicky’s psyche wondered what that would be like.

“You need anything specific?” Joe asked, heading out towards the frozen foods section. “I’m getting some fruits and vegetables, and maybe ice cream.”

Layla piped up. “Ice cream?”

“It’s for all of us, if I find that you’re sneaking scoops you won’t have it again til next year,” Joe warned, walking backwards. “Nicky, you allergic to any nuts?”

“Nope. Anything you want us to get in the meantime?”

“Think we’re low on basmati rice and lentil!”

He turned the cart in search of the rice and legumes section. “On it!”

At some point during their search, Nicky and Layla had started making race-car noises and calling out section signs as they passed them.

Into the section that listed rice, he slowed down surveying, lowering his voice when he spotted another man with them, holding a basket.

Slowing further to browse, he asked, “What kind of lentil does your dad like, I forgot to ask.”

“Makes the orange ones the most.” She rose up, whispering in his ear. “Don’t get the black ones, they make us fart.”

Unable to suppress the fit of giggles that broke out, he ended up getting the other shopper’s attention.

His face was the last Nicky had expected to see here.

Older, grayer, in a T-shirt and jeans, was his old priest, Antonio Argenti.

It felt like the air had been knocked out of him. “Father Tony?”

It had been close to ten years since they’d last seen each other, since the scandal rocked their church and made Nicky rethink his choices for the future in a way that spurred on his crisis.

Tony approached, raising his glasses from the chain around his neck to his nose to peer at him. “Nicolò?”

“It’s me. Hi,” he said, nervous, brimming with a hundred questions. “How’ve, uh, how’ve you been?”

“Good. You?” Tony looked down at the cart, finding Layla and the large bag of basmati rice. Tone shifting, he cooed at her, “And who’s this darling girl?”

She waved at him, completely oblivious to the mood. “I’m Layla!”

“Nice to meet you, Layla, I’m Tony.” He looked to Nicky, seeming embarrassed as he clarified, “No ‘Father’, not anymore.”

“I’ve heard,” he said, still finding it hard to take in a deep breath. “What…what happened? Did you leave or were you threatened or defrocked?”

“I left,” said Tony, seeming like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. “It took a while, lots of debates with myself and God, but the best decision was for me to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t do my job anymore, couldn’t keep my vows, or my dedication to god when—” he glanced at Layla, worry entering his dark eyes. “Couldn’t commit to the Big Man Upstairs when my heart belonged to one down here.”

There it was. Confirmation. A simple answer to something that lived at the back of Nicky’s mind.

“Did you always know? Is that why you became a priest?”

“I did and I didn’t. Nothing was certain until he came to my church.” Tony rubbed the back of his head, eyes anywhere but Nicky’s. “What about you? I see you haven’t become a priest yourself.”

“You leaving convinced me not to join.”

That confession pained him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of the impact my decision could have at the time.”

“No, you did me a favor. Sort of.” Nicky’s awkwardness amplified. “Helped me make up my mind about what kind of future I could be locking myself into.”

“So, you’re…” Tony gestured between them, tapping his heart.

Before he could answer, the sound of talking entered the aisle, catching their attention.

Carrying bags of frozen fruits and vegetables and a pint of expensive ice cream was Joe, talking to an older man, hook-nosed, dark-greying hair and small, coal-black eyes. He looked to be Middle Eastern.

The man came to a stop by Tony, showing him the contents of his basket. “Did you know there are salmon steaks here? Good price too.”

“I didn’t,” Tony said, half-distracted, watching Joe as he set the bags at Layla’s feet. “Remi, this is Nicolò, he used to attend my church.”

Remi, a man Nicky didn’t recognize, but instantly knew to be the reason Tony abandoned his post, immediately shrunk back, as if afraid of them. “What a surprise, Joe and I go to the same market, you know the place I get my _labneh_ from? He gets stuff for his sweetshop from there.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without that place,” Joe said, completely unaware of the tension growing between them. “I’d have to order the stuff online, which is pretty expensive.”

Nicky jabbed his side. “You can afford it.”

“I know, but I’m thinking about my ROI here,” Joe said cheerfully, putting an arm around Nicky’s shoulders and patting his chest. “This is still considered a risk, so excuse me for being smart with my money.”

“The quality is the same, isn’t it?”

“In my opinion, better. It makes a difference where it’s from and how it’s handled. Right, Remi?” Joe asked him. “Can’t substitute Greek yoghurt for _labneh_.”

“No, it’s not the same,” Remi agreed. “What’s your shop called? I’d love to get some stuff for my nieces and nephews, they never really tasted our things because their mother is Irish.”

“The Aubergenie, like aubergine and genie,” Nicky answered for him. “Should have cards soon, right?”

“As soon you finish what we’ll be putting on them,” Joe agreed, hand still on Nicky’s chest, drawing the eyes of both Tony and Remi. “He’s an artist, really making me consider to picking up a brush again.”

“You should,” Nicky told him. “I’d love to see what you make.”

“It’s been so long, it won’t be any good.”

“It doesn’t have to be, you can start for fun.”

“Thanks, Nico.” The fondness softening Joe’s face made him feel like he was a wax-figure standing near a furnace, slowly melting, mind devolving to bubbling liquid.

Intense feelings collided within him, panic and adoration fighting over which made his heart better harder.

He was so screwed.

“Do you have a website?” Remi asked, breaking their eye contact.

“Yes, we do, the address and number are on there,” Joe told him, arm pulling Nicky closer. “You’ll have to update for us as well. It has a very plain design.”

“Will do,” came out a bit strained.

Remi extended his hand to both of them. “Can’t wait to try your stuff, Joe.”

Nicky shook it limply, focus mainly on Tony, who had calmed, looking between him, Joe and Layla.

“You have a beautiful family, Nicky. I’m happy for you.”

It may not have been possible, but he definitely felt like he had swallowed his tongue.

But they had parted with a wave and a goodbye into the next aisle before he could gather his wits.

Already sweating, he checked for Joe, who had retrieved red lentils and few bags of legumes.

It was almost like he hadn’t heard Tony.

As they pulled into Joe’s driveway, Joe asked him, “So, that’s what convinced you to give up on seminary school?”

“Partly, yeah.”

“I think he thought Layla was our daughter.”

Chest tight, he prompted, “How do you feel about that?”

Joe beat Nicky to taking the grocery bags, leaving him to open the door. “I mean, if it were possible, she does look like a cross between us.”

That was something Nicky would not be able to un-see. Layla’s mother had to have shared his coloring, or close to it.

“How do you feel about being confused for my…?”

“Your husband?” Joe finished, dimples out in full force.

Nicky opened the door, making way for Layla who beat him inside. “Husband, not boyfriend?”

“Well, I’d hope we didn’t have a child out of wedlock or else my mother would beat me with her slippers—”

The sight that cut him off had Nicky stopping dead.

Two people stood in the kitchen, drinking tea. A short man in cargo shorts and a faded Deep Purple T-shirt with greying curly hair and mustache, glasses perched on his narrow nose, and a slim, glamorous-looking woman in a 60s-inspired yellow dress with a greying bob and a rattling set of slim, gold bracelets.

Joe’s parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	10. Chapter 10

“Jiddo! Taita!” Layla tossed her backpack on the couch in her rush to reach them.

Joe’s father lifted her up and spun around before kissing her face. “ _Chérie_ , did you miss Jiddo?”

“I did! Did you bring something for me?”

Delighted, he set her down and went to dig into a bag on the island while she greeted her grandmother, throwing herself at her legs. 

“Mama! Baba!” Joe entered the kitchen for a quick hug with his father before he went about emptying the shopping bags. “You’re back early! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“We thought we’d surprise you,” his mother said, watching Nicky curiously. “You must be Nicolò.” 

If he was nervous before about Tony’s mistake, he was now in the sweaty-palms stage of anxiety. He couldn’t even extend his hand out to her. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kaisani.”

“Chamseddine,” she corrected swiftly, irked. “We keep our maiden names.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Smiling with lips together, she beckoned him. “Call me Nesrine.”

Cautious, he approached, wiping his hand on his shirt to extend it, only to be pulled in by his wrist, sandwiching Layla in a hug. When he was released by Layla wiggling out, giggling, he finally gave Nesrine a good look.

The pictures didn’t do her justice. She had a striking face, full lips, small, piercing eyes, a regal profile and strong jaw with smooth, beige skin, few wrinkles for someone who had to be in her late fifties. The only sign of her age was that she had stopped dyeing her hair, leaving it silver.

“You’re stunning,” he blurted. “I’d love to paint you.”

Taken aback, she let out a pleased laugh, hand over her heart, hand bearing three rings, a gold wedding band, a solitaire diamond set in silver, and what had to be platinum with a teardrop blue opal. “You hear that, Jojo? Someone finds me worth painting.”

Coming down from his panic, he mouthed “Jojo?” at Joe, who responded with what looked like “Shut up!”, making him cackle.

“Mama, I did paint you,” Joe said, annoyed, turning the kettle on. “It’s hanging in your house.”

“That wasn’t a painting, you did that with colored pencils, and it’s almost as old as your sister.”

“No, it’s not!” he denied. “The date is at the bottom by my name, it’s from Twenty Ten.”

“Still too long.”

“We’ve talked about him making art again,” Nicky offered. “So, if you’re not careful you’ll have us fighting over who gets to depict you.”

That bit of flattery seemed to work, as she set her hands on her hips and turned her head up, basking. “About time someone appreciates the effort I put into maintaining myself.”

Joe’s father returned with a small box for Layla, who snatched it and ran off, ignoring her father’s calls to thank her grandfather.

Noticing Nicky, he mumbled what sounded _“Donc, c'est qui ce gars déjà?”_

Nesrine mumbled a response that made him let out an “Oh!” of surprise and rush at Nicky, grabbing his head to pull him down, placing a firm, whiskery kiss on each cheek. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Nicolò,” he said, patting Nicky’s face before releasing him. “We’ve heard much from our son about you.”

He was certain this was merely flattery, because what could Joe have told his parents?

“Likewise, Mr. Kaisani.”

“Have you really?” Nesrine asked doubtfully the same instant her husband said “Elyes. We don’t do Mister and Misses.”

“You grew up calling people Madame and Monsieur,” Nesrine told him.

“Doesn’t mean it ever felt natural. Hate how impersonal it is,” Elyes griped before waving it off to refocus on Nicky. “All good things I hope, are what you heard?”

“I hear you can tell me a lot about history, I could use some pointers for my story.”

He could see where Joe got his expressiveness from, because his father embodied excitement, grabbing Nicky to lead him to the dining table. “Finally, someone to discuss with. My children are useless in that aspect.”

Joe made a squawking noise of protest. “I learned everything you wanted to teach me.”

“Except my job,” he chided.

“I didn’t want my dad’s job either,” Nicky said. “He’s still mad about it.”

Nesrine made a displeased sound as she followed Layla. “The amount of cases I get that stemmed from fathers trying to live through their sons is saddening.”

Taken aback by how his parents were, he felt brave enough to speak his mind. “You’re a therapist, right? Have any advice on what to do about nightmares?”

“That’s a broad subject that would need some discussion. Would you like to have a session?”

“Mama!” Joe protested. “He’s just humoring you.”

“I’m serious,” Nicky said. 

Joe grit his teeth in an urgent expression that essentially meant _No_.

Nesrine picked up on it, casting a disapproving glance his way before she went to move Layla off the couch and into her room. He heard her say something about homework while Joe puttered about the kitchen, taking out pots and stuff from the pantry. 

And placing everything very loudly.

He managed to catch his eye as Elyes led him to the dining room.

“So, tell me your story,” he said, seating himself before Nicky. “I love tales of all sorts, I’ve done my best to instill it in my children. With varying degrees of success.”

“You mean Jessie?”

Elyes removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “That girl takes after my sister, Nisma. Almost exactly. I’d believe in reincarnation if she weren’t still alive.”

Nicky expelled a stuttering huff, not quite a giggle, but close. “Is that a thing, girls taking after their aunts and boys after their uncles?”

“It’s more true than not, that girls are like their father’s sister and boys are their mother’s brother. The latter is very true of Joe, though the recklessness of his Uncle Youssef went to his brother.”

The elusive Adam, who he had yet to meet. Where did he live, Switzerland?

“Youssef died in a motorcycle accident, right?”

Elyes made a pained face. “Stupid boy. He was only twenty-two, barely out of university, ready to start his life and ended it in a way that could have been avoided.” He waved the topic away with a “Bah!” before replacing his glasses. “Now, tell me about this story.”

“It’s set in a fantasy universe and I want to base some of the cultures in it on both the land of my ancestors as well as Joe’s, because he and Layla inspired the idea,” he explained, taking the sketchpad out of his bag. “He said you could help with detail and inspiration. Any events or places you think should be included?”

Like he had been waiting his entire life for that opportunity, Elyes took it and talked for what felt like five hours straight, leaving Nicky scribbling notes as fast as he could before moving on to typing them on his phone.

Then, at Elyes’ prompting, he found a recording app to just capture their entire conversation.

The man was a well of information, rattling off facts and anecdotes on everything from trade routes, military tactics, how languages evolved and even how certain foods were introduced to lands they were now a staple of.

Nicky was ashamed to say he didn’t know that tomatoes were not an ancient staple of Italy, but had been brought back alongside potatoes from the New World as Elyes put it.

By the time Joe had joined them, hair dampened with steam, lower lip peeling like he had been worrying it with his teeth, it was almost six o’clock.

“Weren’t you supposed to go back to work?”

“I was, but I told Sébastien about the surprise visit and he said Patricia could handle whatever was left,” he said, not sound too pleased. “Talked your ears off, has he?”

“I’m learning a lot actually.” Nicky raised his phone, showing two hours-worth of recording. “You have a treasure trove in your family, Jessie is missing out.”

“Thank you, Nicolò,” Elyes said proudly, if not pointedly. “Nice to be appreciated.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “It’s fun if you see him once every now and then, but every day or even every week and he retreads the same five topics over and over.”

“I do not. I make it a duty to learn new things and impact them.”

“Impart, not impact.” Joe eyed him disbelievingly. “Did you tell you the tangerine story?”

Nicky tried not grinning. “You tell me, _yousefi_.”

Joe covered his head, groaning. “Great, now you too.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer ‘my tangerine’ to ‘my little cabbage’ or whatever it is the French say?”

“ _Mon petit chou_ , yes,” Elyes said.

Nicky chewed on his pen, thoughtful. “Any relation to choux pastry?”

They looked Joe who let out climbing frustration with a long exhale. “Yes. It’s called _pâte à choux_ because it resembles cabbages.”

Nesrine announced her arrival with “Any relation to the Lebanese ‘shou’?”

“Does anyone have idea where that came from?” Joe asked her.

Nicky snapped his head between them, confused. “What’s a Lebanese shoe?”

Nesrine arrived into the dining room with a pile of bowls. Nicky rose to help set the table. “The Lebanese start almost every sentence with the word _shou_ which basically means ‘what’ or ‘how’. It’s not Arabic, so I don’t know where it came from.”

“Probably of Phoenician origin,” said Elyes, Layla on his lap. “Some ancient things cling to the modern world, we may not know it, but they’re here.”

That was Nicky’s cue to prompt. “Like what?”

Joe made a petulant noise, a “Guh!” of disapproval that almost had Nicky sticking his tongue out with spite.

And that was how Nicky got a brief history lesson on the Egyptian food known as _fesikh_ , a tradition maintained from millennia ago. A fermented fish caught from the Nile, salted and left to rot to be consumed in April alongside Easter brioches. 

With that came occasional commentary from Joe, who hated it, and Nesrine, who claimed ‘he lacked the gene to enjoy it’.

“It reeks!” Joe complained.

“It’s fermented, of course it reeks. You’re telling me some of the cheese you eat doesn’t smell like feet? Or some of the alcohol doesn’t smell like vomit?”

Squabbling continued as they banged around the kitchen, only elevate when Joe got riled up. “Don’t touch anything! You’ll ruin it! Go sit down.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she said firmly. “I’m trying to help you finish up.”

“Whenever you help, food goes bad. Please go sit down.”

“ _I_ make food go bad?” Nesrine scoffed. “Oh, tell me all about how I ruin everything and made you miserable.”

He could practically hear Joe rolling his eyes. “I didn’t say any of that.”

“You implied it.”

“Implied? Seriously?” he spat, offended.

“It’s all in your tone and attitude.”

“Mama, don’t psychoanalyze me. We’re not in your office.”

“I’m saying as someone who knows how people tick for a living I can tell what you mean based on you behavior.”

“Unbelievable, you always do this and— _Mama, irhamini!_ ”

They broke out into an argument in Arabic that had Elyes covering Layla’s ears.

He dared to ask, “What are they saying?”

The topic seemed to weigh on him. “Nothing new. Same argument every time.”

“Circular?”

“Yes, pointing fingers. Getting angry at stuff I never understand, so I can’t interfere.” He winked at Nicky, comforting rather than playful. “I hope you don’t think too poorly of us, all families have their moments.”

“I get it. I’ve had my own fights with my father.” He just didn’t think Joe would have ever had that problem. 

“Let’s hope it stays a spat.”

It did not.

Partway through Elyes telling Nicky about how Stone Age remnants were found in Tunisia, Joe brought the dishes in one by one, practically slamming them onto the table. A bowl of spaghetti, a side dish of breaded, fried meatballs Elyes called _kibbeh_ , garlic bread and grated cheese.

When he and Nesrine arrived, they sat the furthest away from each other. Nicky could feel the tension like they were the heat waves coming out an open oven.

Before digging in, Joe and Nicky’s forks clashed when they reached to help cut up the garlic bread for Layla. Bashful, he retreated, “Sorry.”

The anger that furrowed his brows faded. “No, thank you for being thoughtful.”

“So, who’s helping me?” Layla asked from between them.

Sharing a small chuckle, Nicky let Joe finish up slicing her bread for her and splitting the _kibbeh_. 

Idle conversation rotated, but Nicky could feel the tension between mother and son grow until it culminated with her, oh-so-casually saying, “So, my friend has a daughter who’s coming here to do her doctorate, she’s a very smart and worldly young lady. Her name is Soraya.”

“Good for Soraya,” Joe said, shaking pepper onto his pasta. 

“She’s studying to be a pediatrician. She would make the best mother, don’t you think?”

“Occupations are no indication of personality.” Joe’s tone was clipped, irritation buzzing off him, close to frizzing his hair. “I’ve had a lot of teachers who were anything but nurturing or patient, some would have been Miss Trunchbull from _Matilda_ if they could get away with it.”

Elyes found that as the opportunity to become his chatty self. “I found a study once that said abusive women gravitate to occupations that provide them power in the guise of care like nurses and teachers—”

“Elyes.” Nesrine shot him a warning look, stopping him in his tracks. “Well, I know Lina and her daughter wouldn’t be anything but gracious and caring. She’s also very pretty, takes good care of her hair.”

“That’s nice.”

Nesrine didn’t take the hint. “We’re meeting her next week, you should come along. I’ll bet you have a lot in common.”

“No offense to Lina, but her daughter should be focusing on her career right now, and what would a girl pursuing a doctorate want with a guy like me?” Joe’s bared teeth weren’t a smile, but a warning.

“You know, you’d have a lot less time finding a woman if you made yourself more presentable.” She stood to reach for his head. “Brush your hair, or at least shave it so you can look like the thirty-something business-owner you are.”

He stopped her hand with his. “Mama, enough.”

“Honestly, it’s like you’re trying not to find someone. What are you going to achieve from making so many decisions you know repel girls from good families?” She put her fingers together, immaculate dusty-rose nails and rings on elegant display. “What about that Chinese girl you meet with? She seems lovely, classy, very eloquent.”

Joe shot a glower at her, firmly chewing. “She’s Vietnamese, Mama.”

Nesrine swatted the correction away. “Big difference.”

“Says the woman who slams into the ceiling if anyone calls us Arabs.”

“Because we’re not! We’re from a different continent, with a longer, more varied history.” she defended heatedly. “Vietnam or Taiwan or wherever is right next to China, it’s not the same. But that wasn’t my point, that girl seems like a good match and she already likes you.”

“Whatever happened to don’t mix business with pleasure?”

“It’s not like you’ll be stuck with her like you are with Sébastien.” She made a face like she’d smelled something unpleasant. “Ask her out once whatever you’re doing is over and done with.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Nesrine.” Elyes gripped her arm, trying to get her to sit. “Not now.”

“Then when? I’m getting old and I want to see you settled down and for Layla to have a complete family. Don’t be selfish like your sister and spare us the trouble, come meet Soraya—”

Joe slammed his hands onto the table as he stood, startling everyone. “I’m not one of your patients. You can’t give me orders on how to fix my life because there’s nothing wrong with it. I like the way it’s going.”

She worked her jaw, unconvinced. “Clearly, you’re so in control this man injured himself because you couldn’t keep an eye on your own child.”

Nicky longed to be a turtle in this moment, so he could suck his head into its shell and never come back out.

Joe left the room without another word. Nicky wasted no time following, not before pointing at Layla and saying “Stay here,” and asking Elyes to watch her.

Chasing Joe out of the house, he caught him by the arm. “Hey, wait. Where are you going?”

The last thing he expected was to be faced with a Joe’s teary eyes and wobbling lips.

“I couldn’t be in there. She always gets like this, and I can’t take it anymore,” he said shakily, wiping at his eyes. “Before, all three of us were under one roof and we got our share of her bullshit, but now it’s just me putting up with this, and I have to keep things peaceful for Layla, but it’s so fucking hard.”

Conflict pulled at his heartstrings. On one hand, he knew what he was feeling due to his experience with his family. On the other, Nicky envied him having parents that were still together, involved in his life, and a mother that cared enough to stick around and fuss over him. 

“Joe, she’s just looking out for you. She may be a bit abrasive about but—”

“A bit?” he mumbled. “She clubs me over the head with how much of a disappointment I am, how difficult I make her life because I don’t bend to her every whim. I used to, back when Adam was the one defying them and taking up all the attention they had left at home.” He palmed his face, cupping his chin, breathing wetly. “Now that’s not the case. I’m the problem that won’t sort itself out, and Jessie isn’t giving them the chance to make her decisions for her, it helps that they’re too old for her adolescent bullshit and just let it slide, but me?” A humorless chuckle accompanied a dismissive shake of his head. “But I’m tired of it. I’m in my thirties, when do I get to live my own life?”

He felt that the majority of what he told him was not for the sake of a response, but to vent. And he wanted him to not just vent but not continue to get worked up. A simple, jokey response was the best option. 

“My dad does that too, maybe we should lock them in a room together and see how they like their own treatment.”

Joe snorted, still rubbing at his eyes. “That’d be a bloodbath.”

“Probably.” He approached, cautious, like Joe was a doe he’d found in the foods, skittish and afraid. “Did you two argue about something else, when you, um, switched gears?”

“Yep, it was actually worse than the last bit.” Joe jerked his head down the sidewalk. “Let’s walk, help me clear my head so I don’t have to scream at my mom in front of Layla.”

“You ever do that?”

“In a few low points, yes. But I had to, she was overstepping badly.” He quickly followed up with “Not in front of her, no. Never. But I’ve had a few moments where I just snapped.”

“What happened?”

Joe linked his arm with Nicky’s leaning against him, a welcome weight. “There was the whole dropping out of university thing, which has not happened in both sides of my family, ever. Three-generations of very educated people, lots of potential, only for me to drop it like a hot coal.”

“Speaking as someone who now wants to drop out, I’m sure you had good reasons. Even if you didn’t, that’s your decision.”

“Except they acted like it wasn’t,” he said. “Then there was me raising Layla alone. They wanted to take her while I went back to school. No chance.”

If this was around the age where he would have in a post-graduate school, then how long had the mother been gone?

Unless it was a situation like his, where Elisabetta had up and left Salvatore and their children, never to be seen or heard from again. That sounded less like a wife and more like a casual relationship or one night stand gone wrong.

Why did such a nasty prospect give him so much hope?

“Shit, really?”

Joe expelled a low, groaning noise. “Then there was opening the bakery with Sébastien, who my mom still doesn’t like.”

“How come?”

“There’s the fact that he’s French.”

Nicky couldn’t resist the rude noise that escaped him. He caught the corner of Joe’s mouth turning up in response. “And the fact that he had an addict sister and is stuck raising her kids. It’s a sign that he’s from a ‘disreputable family’.”

“Jesus.”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell them your mother skipped out on you, that will rain scrutiny down on your psyche.” Joe bumped his shoulder against Nicky’s. “It’s why I didn’t want you telling her anything. It’s different if she’s doing her job with strangers, there’s a degree of separation. But in a close case, her feelings get in the way, and it can get personal. It’s why you don’t treat friends or family, you have to refer them.”

“I didn’t think about it this way. I just thought I could ask for advice, and trust her because she’s your mom.”

“Nope, the closer you are to a situation the less you see.”

“Sorry for overstepping then.”

“You didn’t, she just doesn’t know when to stop. Like the whole setting me up thing she keeps doing.” Joe mimicked her tone as he mockingly said, “So-and-so’s daughter is such a catch, she is clearly too good for you with her class and education that you squandered. But she will look past your misdeeds and status as a single father, so, you should be grateful and marry her with no fuss.”

“How often does she do this?”

“Too often. It’s always painfully obvious too.”

“Is this why you said you wanted to try men this morning?” Nicky’s heart was in his stomach as he posed this question. “Think she’ll stop throwing girls at you if she thinks you’re gay?”

“Won’t stop cold turkey, but she might slowly give up.”

If there was something he wanted to know more about, it was his brother. “Did Adam get this treatment?”

“He didn’t give her the chance. Always had girlfriends, then he met Lara at work and it was a done deal.”

“They married?”

He hummed a confirmation. 

The suggestions about ‘giving up women’, plus the questions he’d asked this morning spurred the hopeful rush in his blood flow. “When was the last time you dated?”

“I can’t remember. I really can’t. I keep going on dates but none stick. I’m always disinterested or can’t get their interest to begin with.”

“ _Star Trek_ monologues?”

A puff of air left his nose. “A universal turn-off.”

“I don’t think so, it gave me an insight on what you liked and how you thought,” Nicky said. “You can show me all your favorite episodes and tell me everything I missed.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah, I had fun watching cartoons with Layla. She talks about their plots the same way you do, and how your dad talks about history.” He couldn’t help seeing the sweet connection, warming him to the outdoor chill. “The enthusiasm must be genetic.”

Joe bumped his forehead against Nicky’s. “Thank you, really.”

The press of their cold skin against one another, just the sensation and the closeness had his insides humming.

What was he going to do with himself? This wasn’t mere adoration or fondness or just ‘liking’ him. It was stronger than that, overwhelming even.

Taking the neighborhood in a circle, they rounded back to his house to find Elyes and Nesrine in jackets and waiting on the couch.

She avoided Joe, kissing Layla’s cheek then bidding Nicky goodbye as she headed out. Elyes followed, exchanging a few words in French and a hug with Joe before embracing Nicky on his way out.

“Sorry you had to see that. They’ll need some time apart to cool down.”

“I can tell. I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

Elyes waved at Layla, who was at his elbow, saluted Nicky then descended to head into their car and drive off.

Joe was in the kitchen, cleaning up and putting away leftovers roughly, channeling his anger. Layla remained by him, visibly upset.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “They were just having a bad day.”

“They have many bad days. Taita always says something mean and Daddy gets upset.”

“Some parents are like that. My dad does that with me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He’s not happy with me, or how I turned out.”

“I’m happy with you.” Layla hugged his leg and he instantly pulled her into a side-hug. “Your dad is stupid.”

Out of the mouth of babes.

Bending down to kiss her head, he whispered, just between them, “I’m happy with you too. You’re being very mature about this, whenever I saw arguments like this when I was your age I just got upset.”

“I don’t like being upset. It feels bad. I want throw away whatever does that.”

If only he’d had her outlook. Or ability to just cut lose and run away from whatever made him feel like shit. “But you can’t always toss what upsets you. A lot of the time you’re just stuck with it.”

“Then I’d find a way to make it not upsetting.”

“How would you do that?”

He felt her shrug. “I don’t know. I’ll see, I guess.”

“Good method. Don’t overthink stuff that may not happen, you’ll end up like me.”

She pulled back, finding his eyes, slim brows meeting in the middle of her furrowed brow. He pressed his thumb on that spot, smoothing the creased skin, “What is it?”

“What do you mean ‘end up like you’?”

This was probably why people dismissed him as a child and fed him a whole lot of ‘You’ll understand when you’re older’. They must have not wanted to have this discussion with someone who couldn’t grasp it.

But he didn’t have it in him to brush her off, or lie to her.

“I’m not a happy person. I want to be, but I don’t know how.”

“What makes you happy, even a little bit?”

“Drawing.”

“And?”

“My family, when they’re not making me feel bad about myself.”

She rolled up on her toes, pressing, “And?”

“Is there something you’re fishing for? Because I don’t know if my river of memory has it.”

She giggled, a pure, joyful sound that made his insides wobble like jelly. “River of memory, I like that.”

“It’s in Greco-Roman mythology, in the underworld…I think. Or was it a river of amnesia?”

“Can it be in our story?”

Our story.

His voice cracked as he agreed, “It can. Will have to find an excuse for Zahra to go the underworld, but we can work that out later.”

“Okay,” she said. “Why did you say ‘fishing for something’?”

“Like trying to get fish from water, you can fish for stuff from people, dangle bait for information you want.”

“Oh,” she said slowly, before bluntly following up with, “I’m fishing for if you’re happy here.”

Something between a cough and a laugh escaped him, eyes threatening to tear up from just how sweet and smart she was. 

It was safe to say that Nicky adored her.

“I am, actually.” Nicky checked behind him, Joe was doing something in the kitchen, consumed by his distraction, paying them no mind. “I can’t remember why I was so resistant to coming here.”

“If being here makes you happy then you should stay.”

Snapping his head back to her, he was briefly speechless.

Layla watched him with expectant eyes, pupils dilated, like a cat ready to pounce on something that consumed its attention. 

“I…” his voice fully cracked this time. “I don’t know if your dad would like that.”

“He would! He loves having you here.”

Not seeing any use in explaining what ‘wearing out one’s welcome’ meant, he decided to let this slide for now.

“If you say so.” He rose, ruffling her hair. “Now, why don’t you go watch TV while I check on your dad.”

Not needing to be told twice, she bolted for the TV, belly-flopping onto the couch as Nicky passed into the kitchen.

“Need a hand?”

“I’m almost done,” said Joe, loading the washing machine. “Is she upset?”

“She seems more worried about you being upset.”

Joe kicked the washing machine shut, grumbling, “She couldn’t have talked with me about this in private, always in front of others? In front of Layla?”

“Think parents do that to corner us into behaving.”

He hadn’t had proof of that fact until today, when he saw Joe lose his composure before his parents. He didn’t seem happy to find them here, an unpleasant surprise.

And to think, just this morning he asked Nicky how he blew other guys.

“So, it’s like situational blackmail?” Joe summed up.

“Sure feels like it. Though last time my dad was more direct, and it threw me off so bad.”

“‘Last time’ was last night.”

“Huh, it was.” Nicky glanced around them. “This week has felt like a month, or longer.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re sick of me?”

“No, but like I’ve known you for much longer.”

The hurt in Joe’s eyes melted into a calm, pleased expression. “I feel the same way.”

Before they knew it, it was eight, and Joe had to get Layla ready for bed.

Nicky was about to ascend the stair when Joe whistled at him. “Hey, how about we try something different tonight?”

Oh, how tempting would that be in a different context.

“I want to see if you sleep better in another room. The one you’re in could have a bad vibe.”

“Think my room is haunted?” Nicky asked jokingly.

“Could be. I hardly have bad dreams, so you should come sleep with me,” Joe suggested. 

Poor choice of words. Even worse for Nicky’s dirty mind.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’d be like a sleepover,” he said. “I have a TV in my room, we can watch whatever.”

Of course he had a TV.

“Lead the way.”

In any other case, Nicky would say this was a bad idea. For him at least, that it could worsen the indescribable attraction and connection he had towards Joe.

But he seemed to be nearing on the fragile state Nicky had been in yesterday, and he’d hate to leave him alone tonight. He wanted to return the favor.

In his room, they settled in the spacious bed and turned on _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. Nicky was half-paying attention to the plot, the rest of his focus went to Joe, who was slouched, somber.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“A bunch, but I don’t know if it’s fair to burden you.”

“Think of it as an exchange, I’ve told you more about me than I know about you.” Nicky edged closer, catching his eyes. “Come on, be fair.”

“But where do I start?”

“Anywhere, just unload.”

Joe lowered the TV volume, sitting up. “Um, to start, you were right.”

“About?”

“Me being an ‘ugly duckling’.” Joe grimaced. “You really don’t want to see pictures of me under twenty-four, I was in the awkward stage for so long and had no idea what to do with my hair. And I was covered in acne. I’m still a little oily now.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Dude, my forehead is so oily some days that you can fry a fritter in it.”

Nicky pretended to gag. “That sounds disgusting. But I believe you. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I’ll need proof. Show me the bad hair, acne and whatever else kept you from fighting girls off.”

Joe shook his head. “Not a chance. You already said I was handsome and you’re not taking it back.”

This was the moment that Nicky realized that that entire exchange happened while Joe had no idea he was interested in him. “What does it matter if I do?”

There it was, that look. Joe’s face angled down so he could look up at him, coy and tempting, biting his bottom lip. “It’s good for my ego.”

“Like you’re short on affirmation?”

“Nicky, you met my mother.”

“I meant romantically.”

“I also told you about my disastrous dates and how long I’ve been single.”

“Physically? You get hit on, there’s no way you don’t.”

“Where, in the kitchen? At the grocery store? At parent-related events and situations that revolve around the kids?”

Nicky glared at him. “You telling me you’ve never been hit on?”

“Not never, but women don’t tend to do that.” He dragged his tongue over his lips, making Nicky’s toes curl. “Men do.”

“Yeah?” he sounded pitifully breathless. “What’s that like?”

“Guys don’t hit on you?”

“Not really. But I don’t look like you.”

“I like the way you look, if I start drawing again I want to do you.”

_Please do me_ , his stupid brain screamed. “I can’t wait to pose for you then.”

“Me too.” Joe continued teasing his lips, making it hard to remove his eyes from that part of his face. “What else did you want to know?”

He found that he couldn’t take not knowing anymore. “Joe, where’s Adam?”

The good mood was shot dead at close-range, obliterating as the question hit Joe.

Bleary-eyed, lips trembling, he rasped, “Gone.”

Nicky’s chest seized. He should have known, but he didn’t want to believe it. “What happened?”

“H—he and his wife were traveling, belated honeymoon. They were heading somewhere at night and someone driving in the wrong direction hit their car. Headfirst.” His breath hitched, tears falling out of his eyes. “They—they—”

He choked, like the unsaid words blocked his throat. 

Nicky held his face. “You don’t need to tell me. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, tears flowing faster out, Joe nuzzled Nicky’s palm. “I miss him. I miss them both. I keep thinking about how different things would be if they had never gone on that trip, what our family would be like.”

Seeing him like this saddened him severely. “Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Sniffling loudly, he continued sobbing. “I can’t not. It eats at me, because deep down I know it was my fault.”

Taken aback, he came in closer so their knees were pressed together. “What are you talking about?”

“I arranged the trip. I told them which place to go to, booked the hotel and told them where to go at what time, because it’s where I went for my senior trip.” He sniffled harder, sounding like he was coming down with a cold. “If they hadn’t gone there or done what I suggested, they would have never…they would still be here.”

“Joe, there was no way you could have known.”

He shook his head, lip trembling. 

“It wasn’t your fault. No one could have predicted this. The only one at fault here is the bastard that drove on the wrong side of the road too fast to see another car.” Nicky firmed his hold on Joe’s face, desperate to meet his eyes. “Listen to me, it’s not your fault. Your family doesn’t blame you, no one does. And you have a right to miss them, to wonder what things would have been like, but you can’t keep torturing yourself with what-ifs.” He pressed their foreheads together, finding Joe sweaty, clammy. “Adam wouldn’t want you to be like this, he’d want you to honor his memory by living your life in a way he couldn’t.”

It almost felt like he was talking to himself.

Joe let out a wheezing cackle, a horrid, pained noise that rattled out of his tight chest. “It’s just. It’s just so much of what I think about is selfish.” He breathed out, hot air on Nicky’s chin. “I think about what it would be like if he were still here because it would have made things better, easier. My parents would have him to be proud of, of his career and achievements, the partner he chose, the four children he and Lara talked about having, two years in between each kid unless they got twins. They’d make up for me not having any.”

He stopped, throat bobbing. “They said their first son would have Youssef as a middle name.”

Now would not be the time to ask why his brother assumed Joe would not be having his own children.

“Stop. Stop thinking about the past, it won’t change anything. Joe, breathe, breathe with me, okay?”

“It exploded,” he gasped. “The car exploded. It burned them alive. We had to keep their caskets closed at the funeral.”

“Stop it!” He moved his hands to Joe’s hair, trying to ground him with a grip, just enough to jolt him out of it, not like how Nile and he had grounded themselves with pain. 

But he didn’t listen to him, he had psyched himself up so bad his breathing had become shallow and fast, and he pressed a hand to his heart, head lulling from side to side like he was losing his grip.

He was having a panic attack.

Whether it was to return the favor or the first thing that came to mind, it didn’t make a difference. Nicky did the only thing he could and pressed his mouth to Joe’s.

A sharp intake of breath slowed his shaking. He might have even been holding his breath until Nicky pulled back, finding teardrops clinging to his long, dark lashes, the unshed ones glistening in his eyes.

Still sobbing, he stared at Nicky, who was starting to panic himself.

He shouldn’t have done this. It was stupid. It was probably even creepy considering Joe knew he was attracted to him.

But what was he supposed to do? Just sit back and let Joe suffer through his attack, spiraling further into self-loathing and ruinous thoughts like Nicky himself did?

Regardless, he’d messed up. Bad.

It was stupid. He was stupid. He needed to get up and out before Joe came to his senses and kicked him out—

His own spiral was cut short when Joe surged in mid-sob, slamming his face against Nicky’s, making his maelstrom of thoughts halt abruptly.

In terms of kisses, this one was terrible. But he didn’t care one bit.

Knocking their teeth together, Nicky’s nose bumping against Joe’s cheek, they kept mouthing at each other until they found the right angle, taking a few lousy kisses to settle into a decent method.

Joe’s hands went for his head, then down to his shirt, pulling Nicky on top of him with a harsh pull. He went willingly, not caring that his bruised arm screamed from the angle it was bent at, knees bracketing Joe’s hips, his upper body pulled down to maintain the rhythm of their kissing.

Hands roamed his back, squeezing his shoulders, bunching up his shirt. He could barely think of anything but the effort at hand, responding with just as much mindless, instinctive enthusiasm.

This couldn’t be happening. He had to be dreaming. He had fallen asleep in front of TV and was having an indulgent fantasy that would end up being a nightmare. Any minute now Joe would would turn into a ghoul and bite his head off. Any minute now…

That moment never came. Instead, Joe’s hands had gone so low they were under his shirt, the feeling of his fingertips making Nicky shudder.

Under him, Joe opened his mouth, tongue pressing at his lips. Mindlessly obedient, he opened up and let him in, feeling himself begin to melt.

Joe’s hands went past his waist, under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, grabbing handfuls of ass, making Nicky gasp as Joe moaned into his mouth.

That was the point of no return. He couldn’t hold back his urge to thrust as Joe pulled him further down with his grip on his ass, aligning their crotches to grind.

Electricity came to life underneath his skin, short-circuiting his mind as the rutting escalated and the moaning grew louder, kisses less coordinated, messier.

It ended fast, leaving him on Joe’s chest, panting against his neck, coming down from his high, thoughts taking ages to gather.

Coherency only truly returned when Joe breathlessly whispered in his ear, “Sorry for, uh, for the mess. It’s been a while.”

“Me too,” was all his mushy mind could offer up.

They laid there for a while, just breathing, stickiness drying until it became uncomfortable. That’s when the wheelhouse fan in Nicky’s mind began to pick up speed, going back into overthinking stress.

Joe sat up on his elbows, eyes glazed, tear-tracks shining on his face, lips so, so pink, his hair a mess. “We should shower.”

“Yeah,” he said, his own voice sounding so far away. “Can’t remember the last time I showered.”

“Yesterday? Your hair smelled nice when you came back.”

He was smelling him.

Nicky got off him, head heavy, tension tightening his midsection. “I guess I showered in the morning? I can’t remember, I was in a weird state. Sometimes I don’t realize I’m in the shower until the water gets freezing.”

Joe got up, running his hand up his face and over his hair, still looking like he wanted to cry. “Well, I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen now.”

“What?”

Taking Nicky’s hand, he pulled him up and after him to the en suite bathroom. 

Dazed and more than a little confused, he stood there, watching Joe get towels out of a cupboard and a change of clothes from a walk-in closet. 

What had just happened? What did they do now?

Joe’s touch pulled him out of his thoughts. “You want a shave?” 

“Huh?” Snapping out of it, he realized that he had been staring blankly at the mirror above the sinks. He looked terrible. Somehow, he hadn’t inherited his father’s ability to grow a decent beard, his facial hair awkward and making him look like a serial killer from the Seventies.

“I do, yeah,” he said when he gathered his wits.

Next thing he knew, Joe was softly rubbing shaving cream on his face and stroking the razor over it with careful precision, lower lip between his teeth. Nicky hadn’t gotten the chance to bite it himself.

“I never thought about it,” Joe said quietly. “How it would feel, kissing someone with facial hair. It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not for everyone. Can be pretty uncomfortable, or even scrape your face.”

“Is that one of the pitfalls of being with a man?” Joe held his jaw, tilting his face as he went up remove his sideburns. “What’s it like in general?”

“You’re gonna need to be a little more specific. I have nothing to compare it to.” He inhaled, realizing he could smell Joe in a way he hadn’t before. Sweaty, musty…

“Right.” Joe ducked his head, laughing softly. “But how is it?”

Holy shit, what had just happened? Why was he so calm about this?

“Do you mean as like the relationship dynamic, or do you mean how sex works?”

Joe almost dropped the razor as he rinsed it. “I…both?”

“First depends on the guy, and the second, also depends on what you’re doing.” He looked him in the eye. “What are you thinking?”

His ears turned red. “Does it hurt?”

“A little, especially if you’re not careful or used to it.” The way he hadn’t commented on the moment they just had was driving Nicky crazy. He wanted to nudge him, but couldn’t ask him outright. “I think it wouldn’t be that different if you’re on top.”

Joe gently gripped Nicky’s hair, tilting his head back to shave his jaw and throat. “What if I don’t want to be?”

“You…you want to…?”

Releasing him, Joe avoided his eyes as he washed and put everything away. “I’ve tried doing it. To myself.”

Now that was an image that was never going to leave his head. Joe in his bed, spread out, biting his lip, holding back his moans as he played with himself.

Especially now that he knew what Joe sounded like.

Nicky was brought back to the present when his face was tapped with aftershave that stung, cheeks and jaw massaged by careful fingers. The act of being groomed was so intimate, so caring, it made him feel more overwhelmed than their dry-humping did.

“Did you like it?” he found himself asking, voice foreign to his ears. 

Joe met his eyes, a part still distant, expression brought down with lingering sadness. “Yeah.”

His hands found Joe’s hips, eliciting a soft gasp when one traveled down to his ass. “Never had anyone else touch you there?”

“I’ve never told anyone about this,” he said. “Never felt comfortable to.”

“But you do now?”

Joe’s mouth seemed to caught between a sad wobble and an urge to smile. “I feel different with you. It’s like I’ve always known you.”

“Is that why you asked me about blowjobs at breakfast? You think about it a lot?”

Joe audibly swallowed. “Recently, I have. I can’t remember if I did before, if I had any of these thoughts. Or if I just didn’t allow myself to.”

He tightened his grip, fingertips pressing into Joe’s skin. “So, when you said you were curious, what does that mean?”

Up close, in this light, the color of Joe’s eyes clear, leaving a distinction between it and the pupils that quickly dilated. “Do you want this?”

Worry resurged. “I think you know the answer to that. The question is what do you want exactly?”

Husky-voiced, the look in his eyes made Nicky’s breath catch in his throat. “You.”

It wasn’t possible. The only way he could conceive this was if he truly was deep asleep. His cruel mind playing tricks on him.

The realness of this moment didn’t matter as he was swept back up in the moment. He couldn’t tell who moved first, but he finally got his chance to bite at Joe’s lip as he kissed, slower, more precise this time.

Joe walked them backwards towards the shower, glass doors and marble walls and floors wide enough to fit several people, pulling at his clothes until they managed to break apart to turn on the shower and take off each other’s shirts. 

He’d imagined plenty of times what Joe looked like under his clothes, and the prospect of having that become a reality made his mind feel like it was a popsicle outside on a summer day.

Steeling himself, he pulled down Joe’s pants. He was already hard again and it made Nicky’s mouth water. 

Joe took his time running his hands over Nicky’s body, tracing the scars from the accident as they traded quick kisses. 

Steam had come out of the shower and Joe was still feeling him up.

“The water’s going to get cold. What are you stalling for?” Worry clawed at his insides. “This too much? You change your mind?”

He nudged Nicky’s nose with his own. “I just want to savor this, before we go in and you rail me.”

That got a giggle out of him. “We’re not doing that now, or here.”

“Why?”

“It’s late, also it will be lousy and slippery and difficult and by the time you’re close to ready the water will be cold.”

“I didn’t think about that.”

“Look, whatever porn you watched while figuring yourself out, I guarantee you it doesn’t work like that.”

Judging by how fast he pulled back, and the cringe baring his teeth, that was what was going on.

That made Nicky roll down his pants and step out of them, crowding Joe into the shower. The hot water fell over them, flattening Joe’s hair around his head, and making everything too slippery to grab or hold.

While he had been eyeing his head, Joe’s eyes were fixed downwards.

“Not what you expected?”

“It is. Seeing it in real life is different.” Tentative, he reached out and touched Nicky, exploring, pulling small moans from his mouth.

“What does that feel like, having a foreskin?” he said over the roar of the water. “I always wondered.”

“Again, I have nothing to compare it to.” He pushed his hand off. “Let me wash your hair.”

Joe handed him a bottle as he lowered before him.

“What are you doing?”

He winked. “Something I’ve wanted to do to you since we met that night.”

Not getting the chance to ask for details, Nicky has just gotten some shampoo onto Joe’s head before he took him into his mouth. 

What he lacked in experience, he made up for in enthusiasm after a torturously slow period of exploration and overconfident attempts to take in more than his jaw or throat could handle. The entire time he massaged Joe’s scalp, rubbed at his hair and tried not to thrust too hard.

It didn’t last too long, but the last of his wits had gone out with his release. He returned the favor without thinking, enjoying the reactions he inspired with just his tongue and tempo, feeling the fingers in his air and the moans echo in his ears.

By the time they were out, dried and in clean clothes, Nicky was falling asleep on himself, knees a little mad at him for kneeling on the marble, but the rest of him uncharacteristically calm as he sat on Joe’s bed, watching him rub oil and leave-in conditioner into his damp hair.

Done with his nighttime rituals, Joe crawled into the bed, pulling Nicky in after him by the front of his shirt. They settled into the last two nights’ arrangement, him spooning Nicky.

Joe pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. _“Buonanotte.”_

_“Tesbah ‘ala kheir.”_

He didn’t have a nightmare. He didn’t even dream. He just sank into a pleasant oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elyes asks _"So, who's this guy again?"_ and Joe tells his mother _"Mom, spare me!"_ or _"Have mercy on me!"_
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> You can follow me here on [**Tumblr**](http://lucyclairedelune.tumblr.com)!


	11. Chapter 11

An alarm woke him up with a start.

For a good few minutes, as memories from the night before trickled in, he had no idea where he was or what was going on.

Yesterday had been a whirlwind of events, he’d almost broken Joe’s nose in the throes of a nightmare, accompanied him to work, gotten the design approved, then they had gone shopping with Layla, met his old priest and his husband, been mistaken for a couple, come back to find his parents and have a bad meal that ended with an outburst.

Then they’d retired to his room where a sudden breakdown ended with them having sex. Twice.

Dread sunk its hooks into him as Joe stirred behind him, silencing the alarm.

“Nicky?”

He didn’t move, wanting to hold off on the inevitable for as long as possible.

“Nico.” He pressed his lips to his cheek. “Nicolò, wake up.”

Less hesitant, but just as confused, he rolled over to find Joe smiling softly down at him. “Hey.”

He lowered, pressing their foreheads together. “Hey. How are you feeling today?”

Nicky stretched before settling his hands on Joe’s head, stroking his hair. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m feeling much better, I don’t know what state I’d be in if you weren’t here.” He snuck a glance at the bathroom. “I really needed that.”

“Me too.”

“Good.” He kissed Nicky, once, twice. “You coming to work today?”

“Okay.”

The cloud of confusion continued throughout breakfast, dropping Layla off at school and heading into work.

Joe reached for his hand in the car.

But they still didn’t talk about it.

A few hours into the work-day, while he finalized the design and ideas to finish once he got back to his computer, Caterina came in with Jessie for her shift.

She dropped into the seat before him, furious. “Would it have killed you to answer to my texts?”

“I didn’t read any texts yesterday.”

“Why?”

“I was kind of burned out from the day before, which was pretty bad.” He turned a page in his sketchpad and got to outlining panels from the comic, ideas that began to take form, creating a full arc that could be split into six issues. He was getting ideas for side characters that could be Zahra’s team of friends and family, and he was shamelessly basing several on real people.

Namely Joe as the Sun King and himself and Caterina as members of the Lunar royal family, werewolves.

“You could have at least told me you were okay. Nonna’s pretty upset, you know.”

Guilt spiked inside him, he’d just gotten rid of the intrusive thoughts that insisted he’d taken advantage of Joe in his grieving moment. He still felt like Joe wasn’t quite right, he’d been as spacey as Nicky was all day.

“Tell her and Dad that I’m better.”

“And?”

“There’s no ‘and’.”

Caterina raised a disbelieving brow, arms crossed. “There’s something else, I can tell.”

“Are you psychic now?”

“No, I just know my brother.”

Dropping the pencil, he picked up his cappuccino and used the mug to cover his mouth. “Fine, I had a weird day yesterday.”

Caterina leaned in, expectant.

“I bumped into Father Tony.”

Surprise broke through her annoyance. “Holy shit. How is he?”

“He’s married to some Lebanese guy that used to be part of our congregation.” He took a gulp from his drink, it was lukewarm. “He thought Layla was my daughter.”

Her jaw dropped, greatly entertained. “Did you like that?”

“What? Being faced with what prompted me to make a bunch of rushed decisions that I’ll regret for God knows how long?”

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“Can’t help it, it’s genetic. What are we if not dramatic?”

She wagged her finger at him. “I’ll give you that. But seriously, is this visit doing you any good?”

He couldn’t help glancing at the back, past where Jessie and Sébastien stood, wondering how he was going to properly broach the subject with Joe.

They always ended up talking about personal stuff in an eerily casual way, almost like they really had been in each other’s lives for ages, relying on established comfort and an agreed dynamic.

But it had been less than a month in between their unfortunate introduction and them desperately grinding in the throes of their own emotional turmoil.

“I think so,” was his best answer. “We’re having a good time.”

“This is why I insisted you do this, you needed a change of pace, to get to know someone other than me.”

“I got to know Nile.”

“You haven’t visited her apartment yet or done any real activities outside meeting at the VA and coming here.”

That made him hunch with shame. She’s been a great friend and he had yet to do the least by joining her in one of the hobbies she clearly wanted to have company for.

Once he got his shit together, he’d do whatever she wanted.

“Okay, but that’s still progress.”

“It is, I’m not denying that. Like, that was my point, that I needed to push you.”

He had to admit, he wouldn’t have ended up here if she hadn’t steered him.

“Thanks, really. I needed the push.”

“On that note.” Her eyes flit to the back. “How’s it going with Joe?”

Touching his neck, worried that he might be flushing, or that there was any sign of what happened last night, he stuttered, “It’s good, like I said. We’ve become friends, I think.”

“Just friends?” she prompted.

“What are you implying here?”

“You like him, he likes you. Go for it.”

“What makes you think he’s even into men?”

“His sister had made a few interesting jokes and jabs at his expense that hint towards that.”

Their walk yesterday brought to mind Joe’s off-handed idea that seeking out a guy could get his mother off his back.

_Was that what this was about?_

Fire burst into his midsection, burning like he’d swallowed a hot coal.

Since high school he’d been the target of experimentation as well as bullying. The boys he experienced his firsts were just with him to get off, because he was easier than girls, he came with no risks like pregnancy. He’d had no choice but to keep it between them.

Out of a desire to please and fulfill the fantasies that were driving his hormonal self mad, he’d been stupid enough to do that and it got him put through hell.

Guys who used him could move on with their lives, no problem. But he couldn’t.

“What did she say exactly?”

“That Joe never really had a serious girlfriend, and when he used to draw it was mostly sketches of the human body, namely men.”

Never had a …?

As he was processing the rest, the door opened and Nile entered, chatting with a guy she was talking up the establishment to. “You’re going to love it straight out of the fryer, it’s heavenly—Nicky!”

In the middle of waving back as she approached, he caught sight of the man followed her.

And his arm, sides and every bruise, fracture and breakage from the accident came back to life as his lungs ceased working.

Right before him, mildly shocked, was Jack Keane.

The bastard strolled up to him and smiled. That easy, bright, smarmy grin that had roped him in. “Look who it is,” he greeted cheerfully. “What are the odds we both end up here?”

But all he could see in Keane’s face was the last time he saw him. The Jeep crushing him, the three others with him dead, Keane standing over him as he cried and tried reaching for him.

Only to turn and leave him.

Nile’s enthusiasm dimmed. “You two know each other?”

“Genovesi and I go way back.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, cold. Then the baring of his teeth lost all feigned humor and became a silent snarl. “What have you been up to?”

Nicky didn’t respond, he could only try to remember how to breathe as he fought off his mind’s insistence to drag him back through all the memories he had of Keane, from the day he met him, to when he initiated their relationship, to when he started getting aggressive and icing him out at regular intervals that made Nicky question his sanity, the fights they had, the time his knuckles collided with Nicky’s face…

“Another one from the VA?” Jessie called from across the shop. “We should just open a little spot in your cafeteria at this point. You have a cafeteria, right?”

“Yeah, he just dropped by. Got a job with—what did you say it was?” Nile asked him, almost oblivious to Nicky’s turmoil.

“Merrick Consolidated, I’m head of security.”

Nile whistled, impressed. “How did you swing that?”

“I know the owner’s son, you remember Stephen Merrick, right, Genovesi? He stopped by to get a tour of something, not sure what,” Keane said so calmly, so casually, one would think they were old friends from school reminiscing about a fun incident.

The only image that came to mind was a petulant Englishman who bossed them around, there under shady circumstances. When Nicky had prodded for answers from Keane, he’d gotten yelled at. When he pressed, he got backhanded on the mouth.

Alongside all his flaring phantom aches joining the bruise and scar pain, Nicky now vividly remembered that feeling, knuckles on his lips, slamming them into his teeth until the flesh split and bled out with the saliva.

At the time, he didn’t think much of it. He always ignored it, set it aside, but now he couldn’t stop feeling every memory.

Keane came even closer, making Nicky tense up. “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

He was trembling. Not sure whether from pain, fear or anger, but he had no bite when his response rattled out of his quivering mouth. “No thanks to you.”

Caterina touched his hand, somewhat grounding him to the moment. “Nico, is this…?”

Catching her eye, unable to take in a proper breath, he nodded.

Rage filling her green eyes, Caterina sat up so fast she knocked her chair over. “Get away from him!”

“Whoa, hey, there. You must be Katie.” Keane set a hand on her shoulder, steadying her so firmly Nicky shot up to get between them. “Now, why don’t you two just calm down and we can talk this out like adults.”

“Talk what out?” Nicky couldn’t keep steady his voice, but he could shove Keane off his sister. “Unless you want to admit all the fucked up things you did throughout the years, then I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”

Nile came between them, hands raised. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing, he’s just having some kind of episode,” Keane said casually, spinning his finger near his temple. “He’s always been a little _off_ , if you get what I mean, and I don’t think that little accident helped matters.”

The fire in his gut rose to an agonizing extent, making him start tearing up. “Little accident? It was lethal! Three others died and I almost joined them!”

Unmoved, more annoyed than anything, Keane went for Nicky’s left arm, catching it in a grip that made him yell out in pain. “It’s not my fault you almost got blown up.”

“You told us where to go, said you’d scouted it.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect Keane was working against their unit. Remembering the Merrick guy brought all those ignored suspicions back.

“Let go of me.” He tried prying his fingers off his arm. “I said let go of me.”

Nile pulled on Keane’s shoulder. “I think it’s time you left.”

“No, no, this is just getting interesting. We could sit and catch up, I can tell you all about what little Nicky was like when he was with me.”

“He said let go!” Caterina shoved him. “Get out of here!”

“What’s going on?” Sébastien had arrived.

Keane didn’t release Nicky when he turned on the charm for everyone else. “Hey, you must be Sebastian. Nile’s told me a lot about you and this place, my new boss was just talking about needing to find somewhere to get good bakes from. I’d love to recommend you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Sébastien said, unamused. “But unfortunately, the noise is disrupting my workers and my other customers, so we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Why me? I’m the one being attacked here.”

Nicky found enough of his strength to snap back two of Keane’s fingers, eliciting a pained yelp but not a looser grip. If anything he tightened his hold, fingertips squeezing the bruised the skin.

“You’re really trying to piss me off?”

Joe’s voice entered his ears, amplifying his tangled nerves. “What is all the commotion about?”

It was terrifying, the command he had over his face, voice and body language, immediately shifting into a pitiable tone and expression that a primal part of Nicky was tempted to sympathize with him. “These two just ganged up on me and now he wants to kick me out.”

But Joe wasn’t looking at Keane’s face, he was watching Nicky. “What happened?”

“It’s him,” was all he could say, choked up. “It’s him.”

Horror wormed its way under Joe’s face, distorting his features as fury followed up quick.

Without another word, Joe slammed his fist into Keane’s face.

Between that moment and picking Layla up from school, Nicky was caught in a daze. He was barely present for the fallout. Caterina held him when his knees gave out, Nile jumped back, hands on her mouth, and Sébastien and Joe had thrown Keane out.

In the driveway, he found his voice. “He’s going to come after you.”

Joe hummed distractedly, hanging his and Layla’s coats.

“He won’t let this slide. He’ll make his boss buy your shop or even ruin it or something.” Anxiety spread its tendrils, wrapping around his neck. “He’ll ruin everything, I know it.”

Joe snorted dismissively, taking out stuff for dinner. “He can try. Sébastien and I have a fair amount of connections, and we’re in the middle of franchising. Which reminds me, I need to make a call.”

Nicky was about to get sucked back into a whirlpool of worry when Joe touched him.

Still shaking, he avoided his eyes.

“Did I upset you?” Joe asked. “I promise I’m not usually this reactionary, it’s just when you told me it was him…I kind of lost it.”

Not having a coherent response, tongue caught by how overwhelmed and worked up he was, he surged up to kiss him.

Joe sighed contently as he held Nicky’s head, deepening the kiss.

They could have gone on for what felt like forever if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Daddy, can I stay with Eliana this weekend—oh!”

They broke apart, Nicky hunching over in shame while Joe leaned against the island, clearing his throat.

Layla stood there, already in her pajamas and bunny slippers, holding the house phone with both hands, her face caught between shock and excitement.

Joe had covered his eyes, avoiding them both. “Sure, just make sure you pack more than one change of clothes this time.”

While he had responded normally, Nicky felt like he had been caught at the scene of a murder and scrambled to explain. “Lily, I know this is really weird but we can explain.”

Instead a barrage of distressed questions, Layla ripped out a squeal and ran at him. He managed to kneel in time to catch her in a hug, a mass of question marks manifesting over his head.

She bounced in his arms, barely saying words, just a whole lot of rambling and squeaking. When she released him, she went to her father, making him crack up lightly.

“Okay, homework time.” He turned her around by the shoulders and steered her towards her room.

He returned quick and Nicky had begun to hyperventilate.

Joe cupped his face, speaking in a soft, soothing tone. “Hey, hey, what is it?”

“Can we talk about this?” he said in a rush. “Because I have no idea what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?”

Nicky gestured back and forth between them. “This. What is this?”

His brow furrowed, he looked conflicted. “I’m not sure.”

That was not what he needed to hear right now.

Joe’s phone rang. In the split second between pulling it out and responding, Nicky caught the name QUYNH LAM.

“Hey! No, I didn’t forget. I was just going to call you.” Joe’s eyes moved back and forth, processing whatever information he was getting. “You’re coming? My mom is going to love that.” He paused, only making listening noises until he said, “Okay, I’ll do that. I’m heading there right now.”

Ending the call, he pulled Nicky into a quick hug, parting with a peck on the lips. “We’ll talk when I get off work, about whatever you want. Right now I need to meet up with an old friend, pick something up and head back in til eight, maybe after.”

“That late?”

He made a pained face. “I know, I’m sorry. There’s still leftovers from yesterday and if you need anything, call.”

There was no amount of strength that could force his stiff facial muscles into a smile. He must have looked pathetic, staring after him, his every downer thought written all over him.

“You don’t look too good.” Joe pressed his hand to Nicky’s forehead, then his cheek against his face. “You feeling sick, or is it from seeing that asshole?”

“Probably just him. I kind of went through all these flashbacks and I think I, what’s the word?” Nicky rubbed the back of his neck, tense. “Repressed? Like, a lot of stuff I didn’t think of before just all came up and I realized just how messed up things were.”

“So, do I go back and hit him harder? I used to box, you know.”

“Tempting, but I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’m serious, the idea that he could hit back in a worse way is eating at me.”

“He won’t, trust me. I’ve dealt with people like that before.” He kissed Nicky’s forehead before finally stepping back. “Stop worrying, I can handle myself.”

Nicky watched him, wary.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I’m just concerned.”

“Don’t be.” Taking his coat back off the hatrack, he headed out. “Stay put, and make sure Lily finishes her homework before she comes near the TV.”

“Will do.”

And Joe was gone, leaving him reeling.

Was he missing something? Did he forget some pivotal part in their relationship, if he could call it that? It seemed like they had jumped from _Point A_ to _Point J_ in the span of a day and he didn’t know how to deal with that.

Maybe it was because he had run out of spontaneity. Or he had never been one for it outside of rash decisions.

To pull himself out of his thoughts, he asked Layla to come do her homework alongside him and made them both one of the tisanes in the tea cupboard—lavender—and took it and his laptop and tablet into the dining room.

While he replayed his two-hour lecture with Elyes and typed out notes in his _Story Ideas_ document, she sat with her copybooks and textbook and a whole lot of colored gel pens, some glittery. She was putting a painstaking amount into organizing her notes by color and even drawing little symbols by each point.

“Back in my day teachers insisted we only write in blue or black pen.”

“It’s not for her, it’s for me,” she said. “Jiddo told me to keep my notes like this, by color like his spread-cheats, so I can find what I need quickly.”

“Do you mean spreadsheets or cheat sheet?”

Layla chewed on her pen’s cap as she considered his question. “Both?”

“Smart,” he said. “Your grandpa is a really smart man, your whole family is.”

“Taita doesn’t think so. She thinks Jessie is stupid and that Daddy is wastrel.” She scrunched up her face. “Wasteful? Waste-something.”

“Wasting his potential?”

She pointed the pen at him, triumphant. “Yes! I know it’s bad but I don’t know why.”

The incident at his dad’s house floated across his thoughts. “Potential is something I think most people have, but whether they want to chase it is up to them, or how they’re doing.” He tapped his fingers over the keys of his laptop, watching the cursor blink. “But sometimes parents can kind of imagine that their kids have it for something specific, or they just really want to believe it and want to see it happen.”

“How?”

“Um, for example, a friend of my sister’s is a ballerina. Her mom was also a ballerina and she pushed both her daughters into it from a young age and got really obsessed with making them both better dancers than her. One actually liked it and the other one just became miserable and quitting ballet was a problem in their family.” A bitter taste filled his mouth, remembering the stories of the breakdowns fourteen year-old Angelina had confided to Caterina. “Some parents think they know what’s best for their kids but they’re actually doing the worst.”

Layla gasped, setting her face in her palms. “Why would she not want to be a ballerina?”

“It’s very hard. Like anything else, like what I’m doing now, if you don’t love it enough to see that it’s worth everything, even your health sometimes, then there’s no point.” Nicky found himself asking the dreaded parent-question of “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Layla shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Good, figure it out at your own pace.”

“Okay.” She set her elbows on the table and leaned towards him interestedly. “Do you love my daddy?”

It was a good thing he was holding his mug away from the laptop, or his shaky wrist would have dumped the lavender tea on it. “It’s a little early for love, but I really like him.”

That response seemed to please her. “Are you going to stay now?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Why?”

“We haven’t talked about stuff like that, I don’t know how your dad feels.”

“He really likes you too, he’s been happy with you here.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the P loudly. “But I can tell.”

“If you say so.” He needed to change the subject before he fell pray to his curiosity and ended up needling the man’s daughter for information. “You almost done with your homework?”

She capped her pink gel pen, moving on to one of the papers on the fringes of her little homework nest. “Almost. I have to finish my math sheet and read a chapter for English.”

“What book are you reading?”

“Bridge to Teras—Terabyte.” She slapped her hands on the table with frustration. “Bridge to Tebythnia. Tera—ARGH!”

“Teh-rah-bi-thee-ya,” he enunciated, trying not to giggle. “I’m a little concerned they’re having kids your age read that.”

“Why?”

Should he spoil it for her or let her experience it on her own?

Then again, he grew up with Disney killing off villains and parents. He didn’t think he grasped Mufasa’s death in _The Lion King_ until he was her age. Having his English teacher tell him that it was based on _Hamlet_ the year they took it in class was shocking to say the least.

“It just has some serious parts. It may be too much.”

“I can be serious!”

“Can you?”

“Yeah, watch this!” She made the grouchiest face he’d ever seen, comically grumpy.

He had to laugh, and luckily that made her brighten up.

The doorbell rang, breaking the moment.

Layla beat him to the door, checking out the adjacent window before pulling it open to reveal Nile holding a to-go box.

“NILE!” Layla threw herself at Nile, nearly knocking her over. “Hi.”

She stroked her hair, keeping the box out of reach. “Hi there, spider-monkey. Can I come in?”

Layla bounced back, bowing her in. “Daddy’s not home.”

“I know, he told me.” Nile ventured in, checking the area until her eyes landed on Nicky. “There you are.”

Dropping the box in the kitchen, she met him halfway, throwing her arms around his neck. “Hey?” was all he could say.

“You okay? Joe told me, and I’m so sorry, if knew I wouldn’t have brought him there. I wouldn’t have even talked to him.”

Nicky pulled back. “What did he tell you exactly?”

“That Jack used to hurt you. Is that true?”

Not wanting to think too much about him, he merely nodded, which made her pout. “I’m really sorry you had to see him.”

Sighing, emotionally exhausted, he hugged her again. “You didn’t know.”

“Still feel shitty about it.” She froze, rising on her toes to check at Layla behind them, back at the table, humming and dancing in her seat as she worked on her worksheet. “Think she heard me?”

“Doesn’t seem like it. You do this often?”

“Pretty much all my cousins picked up curse words from me. I’m a terrible influence,” she said with a wink.

“Not your brother?”

“Michael learned everything from his friends. Technically, he started swearing before I did. I spent ages jumping whenever I heard anyone say the harsher swears. I even changed some song names on my phone because I was so embarrassed.”

“What songs?”

“Um, I changed Rihanna’s _S &M_ into _Come On_ , but that was mostly in case my mom snooped on my phone.”

“I spent ages jerking every time a singer swore in any of the songs I had, but I still preferred the explicit versions.” With a hand on her waist, he led her into the kitchen. “Want to drink something with whatever you got?”

Nile opened the box, baring a set of éclairs and some round little pies.

“What’s that?”

_“Tarte au citron,”_ she said with a French affectation. “Sébastien shoved them in my hands as he apologized for him and Joe getting like that in front of me. Don’t know what I can do to remind him that I have definitely seen and endured worse.”

Nicky tried not to roll his eyes as he put the kettle on and took out three plates. “Shut up, you like him fussing over you.”

She giggled, covering her mouth. “I know, it’s great.”

“How are things going with him, by the way?”

“Slow but steady. We haven’t even kissed yet. Not beyond the usual _mwah-mwah!_ ” She mimed trading cheek-kisses. “But we had a bit of a hiccup.”

“How so?”

Nile played with her scarf, a lemon-yellow color with no tassels. “He asked to see my scar.”

“So?”

Nile shrugged her shoulders and didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. “I kinda bolted.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’s more like I got off the couch, pretended to ‘have a thing’ and ran out.” Leaning on the island, she palmed her face. “I literally said ‘I have a thing’. I couldn’t even come up with a decent excuse, because he would have believed me if I said Andy wanted me to come in late.” Then she smacked her own forehead. “I’m still dying of embarrassment two days later. He probably thinks I’m not into him or something.”

“Joe’s sister is a blabber-mouth, she’s definitely told him by now how much you like him.” Arranging the tray, arm aching from the spots Keane had gripped, he aimed his best confused face at her. “I don’t get it. You showed me your scar the day we met, why not him?”

“It’s different.”

“Different how?”

“You and I, we’re in the same boat. We can connect on the scars bit and how we got them. It’s something we can and should talk about together, but with him? I can’t.”

_“Why?”_

“I can’t explain it better than that.” Nile set her jaw in her palm, swaying her hips idly.

“Are you not comfortable with him? You must be at least used to him by now.” He raised the teaspoon, silently asking about sugar. She raised two fingers. “Or is it something else?”

“What else is there?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you think it’ll scare him off or something?”

“…Maybe? Or turn him off me? I don’t know.”

“Sébastien is, what, forty? He’s way too old for that superficial crap, and he already knows you have the scar and how you got it. He asked to see it.”

“To know what he’s getting into.”

“To know _you_.” He carried the tray to the coffee table, calling to Layla. “When you finish your chapter come choose someone for us to watch!”

“Okay!” she called back. “What’s ‘effervescent’?”

“Either sparkly or bubbly like the fizz in soda, or something cheery or lively.” He patted the spot by him and Nile toed off her shoes, folding her legs sideways. “That one of your vocab words?”

“I think so? I can’t find it yet.” He heard her flipping through pages of the book. “I’ll check again. Thank you!”

“Welcome!” Turning back to Nile, he found her watching him with a curious expression.

He nudged her. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just you seem to know your way around here and how to deal with her.”

“What do you mean ‘deal with her’? She’s a very well-behaved kid.”

“Could be.” Nile tapped his nose lovingly. “Or she just likes you.”

“We all get on very well.” He nudged her again. “Back to you flaking out on Sébastien. Why don’t you want to talk to him about stuff?”

“It’s not ‘want’, it’s more like I don’t know if I can.”

“I still don’t get it.”

Nile rubbed at her temples, then massaged her brows. “It’s like how he and Joe became friends in the first place, family tragedy and single fatherhood is something they can’t talk to just anyone about.”

But Joe had talked to him about all that…

“He told you about their ‘family tragedies’?”

“Well, yeah. I had know how he ended up with Huey, Dewey and Louie, didn’t I? You don’t just magically end up raising your nephews.”

“I meant Joe’s.”

Nile pulled a face. “He didn’t tell you?”

“He did, yesterday.” He slumped in his seat. “Yesterday was a very weird day, I’m still wondering what was real and what was a dream.”

“Details?”

Taking in a deep breath, he began to fill her in. Halfway through drinking their tea, he found himself getting dangerously close to what still made his head spin and trailed off with “And I asked about his brother, and he started breaking down.”

“He told you everything?”

“He told me enough, and we didn’t really get a chance to keep talking.”

“Because?”

He took a long avoidant sip.

Did he or did he not tell her?

“We got distracted.”

“By what?”

How did he even put into words?

But it didn’t seem like he needed to. It must have been written all over his face.

“Did you two…?” Nile’s mouth slowly opened, a soft disbelieving gasp made her almost rasp, “You did.”

He slouched further, feeling his face heat up.

“Seriously? You got some before I did? I’ve known Sébastien for ages, how’s that fair?”

“I didn’t think twice about showing Joe what I looked like, so maybe asking to see your neck was him making a pass at you.” Nicky now had to tell her the rest. “Also, I think it may have been a bad idea.”

“Why? You’re into him, I know you are.”

“It’s not me, it’s him.”

“Is he pretending it didn’t happen?”

“That’s what I was expecting. It’s what usually happens, but he’s kind of skipped over that?”

“That’s good.”

He shook his head. “Looks like it’s my turn to have trouble explaining things, because I have a weird vibe about the whole thing.”

“Weird how?”

He lowered his voice. “I don’t think he’s in a right state of mind. It got worse after his parents showed up, like he’s in the middle of some kind of fit.”

“By ‘fit’ you mean?”

“Like he’s not thinking about what he does or says before he does it. Like today when he punched Keane.” Nicky gestured aimlessly. “You’ve known him a while, does he have moments like this?”

“I think he’s just like that, kinda jittery and random?” she wondered, uncertain. “And Sébastien mentioned something about him having mood swings. Could that be it?”

“Could be.” That didn’t make him feel any better. “I think I fucked up. I shouldn’t have done this, he’ll regret it when he snaps out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

But he did. He’d been involved with enough curious guys, or men so deep in denial they’d get angry at him after they fooled around.

The worst part about this was that he liked being Joe’s friend. Losing him as that would be worse than losing the chance to be together.

Nile slapped his knee. “Be a little optimistic, will you? Joe is a good man, you know that.”

Not having it in him to tell her that stuff like this had nothing to do with how nice a man usually was, he let it end here. “If you say so.”

Poised for a distraction, he pointed to the pastries. “You tried these before?”

“I’ve tried most of the gâteaux the Aubergenie makes, but they’re diversifying lately, getting ready for expansion. Are you done with the stuff they need for branding yet?”

“Almost. I need to upload, color and tweak it on Photoshop first.”

“I’m excited.”

“Did I ever thank you for getting me this opportunity?”

“Think so?” She wagged her brows at him as she drank her tea. “Couldn’t hurt to hear it again.”

He kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Nile. I owe you a lot.”

Once Layla was done, she climbed over the back of the couch and dropped between them, choosing a cartoon called _Gravity Falls_. Nicky was impressed with the level of effort and humor, he’d forgotten that some kids’ media could have something for all ages. That made him more confident about the ideas for the comic.

Around nine-thirty, they had almost finished the first season, and Joe entered carrying a bag of white powder. “Is that the illuminati show?”

“Illuminati?” Nile asked confusedly.

Layla beat them to greeting him, jumping up and down, reaching for the bag. “Is that _sahlab_?”

“It is.”

“I want some!”

He side-stepped her. “Let me get to the kitchen first and I’ll make some for all of us.” Reaching Nile, he gave her a side-hug. “Hey, thanks for keeping an eye on them for me.”

Nicky lured Layla away from her father, she seemed ready to steal the bag and eat the powder, whatever it was. “You told her to babysit us?”

Joe made a bunch of dismissive noises, taking out a sauce pan and milk. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t trust you. I just wanted you to have company while I was gone.” He took out a measuring cup and whisk, using the latter to point. “Can you get me the glass mugs? They’re over the dishes.”

Nicky got four of the long, glass mugs and set them on the tray. “How did whatever it was go?”

“Good. Though Sébastien will have to handle the rest of it, because to my parents’ infinite disappointment, I am not a business-detail person.” He shuddered. “Fine print, details, legal jargon, I can’t.”

“So, if you’re both the head baker and were going to design everything, what does Sébastien do?”

“Everything else—the business side of it.” Joe started dumping cupfuls of the powder into the boiling milk in the saucepan. “He used to be in restaurant management.”

“I see.” The smell of the mix he was whisking had risen. “What is that?”

“ _Sahlab_ , we’re going to start serving it at the Aubergenie for the colder months.” Joe whisked faster. “Can you get out the cinnamon and raisins? Do we have coconut shavings?”

Nicky took the cinnamon out of the spice drawer and headed for the pantry. “Raisins, coconut shavings? What is this?”

“It’s a drink, but it can be pretty thick and covered in stuff like a hot pudding, so you can eat it with a spoon like Lily does.”

Nicky found the golden raisins in a jar. “No coconut. I get that it’s a drink, but what is it?”

“Uhhh, I think it’s made from orchid root?” Joe took the saucepan off the fire to pour the contents into each glass. “No coconut, we can use crushed hazelnuts.”

Without thinking much, Nicky found the jar of roasted hazelnuts, took out the cutting board and mallet and crushed a chunk of them while Joe topped the drinks with a dusting of cinnamon, raisins and lastly the nuts.

Joe kissed his cheek as he passed, carrying the drinks to the living room. “Thank you.”

“Joe, we need to talk.”

“About?”

“What we said we’d talk about when you got back?”

“Not now, okay?”

They ended up reheating and finishing yesterday’s pasta and watched more of the cartoon. Nicky had zoned out for most of the hour as he savored his _sahlab_. It was a thick, interesting drink, a hint of vanilla to it. It would be a hit at the shop.

After bidding Nile goodnight, it was time to put Layla to bed.

“Meet me on the roof.” He picked Layla up, holding her out to Nicky. “Say goodnight, Lily.”

Nicky beat her to the joke. “Goodnight lily, cousin to the stargazer lily.”

Layla cackled joyously. “Yes!”

He kissed her head and she puckered her lips in turn, he gave her his cheek and couldn’t resist laughing as she made a loud smacking noise against his skin. “Nighty night, Nicky.”

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

Joe took her into her room and Nicky headed up to the roof, palms sweaty, intestines squirming.

Sitting on the chairs, he tried steadying his breathing, vapor coming out in puffs like cigar smoke.

“You take any painkillers recently?” was how Joe announced his arrival.

“A few hours ago. Why?”

Joe set a bottle and two glasses on the table between their chairs. “Because I’m in the mood to open this.”

Concern spiked. “Thought you didn’t drink.”

“Did I say that? I do, just not often.” He poured a glass and immediately started drinking, downing the wine way faster than he ought to.

He definitely wasn’t okay.

Coming up for air and pouring some more, he asked, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Yesterday. This morning. All of it.”

“You mad about me decking that bastard?”

“No. If I could get away with it I’d have broken a chair over his head.” He set his hand on Joe’s arm to slow his consumption. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m great.”

_“Joe.”_

He wasn’t quite looking at him. “What? What’s wrong?”

Nicky felt like he was losing his mind. “I’m asking you that. You’re upset. ”

“No, I’m not. Not anymore.” He finished his second drink, setting his glass down. “You’re the one who’s upset, not that I blame you.”

“Okay, so we’re both upset. Can we talk about it?”

He rolled his head and shoulders in a weird shrug. “Talk.”

There was no subtle way around it anymore. “We had sex yesterday.”

“You call that sex?”

“What else is it?”

“Fooling around?” Joe gave him a look that made him heat up in this chill, running his tongue over his lip. “What I have in mind is a little different.”

It was hard to keep thinking with his head. “Can you take this seriously?”

“Why? Everything else is serious enough.” He let out a long, visible breath, like smoke from a hookah. “I’m tired of serious, I want to have some fun.”

“You having fun at my expense then?”

A hint of the familiar Joe emerged, worry shaking the glimmer in his eyes. “Did you not like it?”

Nicky didn’t know how respond.

“Look, whatever it was, you can give me pointers, right? I don’t have any experience with guys,” he said in a nervous rush.

“We talked a little about that.”

“We did?”

Alarms blared in his head. “You don’t remember?”

Joe chewed on his lip, squinting. “Wait. Yeah, yeah, we did. All that’s present in my mind is when I got angry with my mom, and remembering Adam and Lara.”

If Nicky was worried before, he definitely was. “What do you remember after that then?”

“We were in my room and you kissed me.”

“Because you were having an attack.” Nicky corked the bottle, keeping it out of reach. “Like what you did with me.”

“Oh.” Joe’s breathing became louder. “So, you didn’t mean to—to make a pass at me?”

This was the worst weather for him to become sweaty and shaky in. “That—that would have been the worst time for me to do that. But, um, you—you started it?”

Joe stared at him, shocked. “I didn’t make you feel like you had to, did I? I’m not.” He stopped, swallowing. “I’m not like him. I’m not.”

“I know you’re not.”

“But you didn’t want it?”

“I did, but not like that.” Nicky’s sweaty palms became clammy, freezing up. “I wanted you to not get upset, to calm down, and it was all I could do. But after you just acted like nothing happened.”

“I—I did? Are you sure?”

“You won’t talk about it properly.” Nicky scratched his face, feeling uneasy. “I just. I want to know what you’re thinking. Are you doing this because you’re feeling bad or do you actually want me?”

“I want you,” he said immediately. “I’ve wanted to blow you since we spent that night talking in the bakery.”

It was hard not to trip over his own tongue as he said “You wanted to do that specifically? You weren’t even aware I was gay.”

Joe ducked his head. “It wouldn’t have been the first time I found someone unavailable attractive.”

“I thought you were flirting with me, then I thought you were straight.” He eyed him. “Are you?”

“Evidently not.” Joe sought his eyes out. “I have no idea how any of this works. I just know I like you, a lot. I want to keep touching you, and now that I’ve kissed you I can’t stop thinking about it.” He then smirked at him. “I’m pretty sure I want you to fuck me.”

Nicky’s throat closed up, making it difficult to breathe.

Had he always this straightforward and blunt? Or was Nicky just realizing it?

“Can’t do that until I know what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just…just tell me this isn’t because you need a distraction, I can’t handle that.” Nicky almost pleaded. “Tell me what’s going on inside your head when you kiss me.”

“Nothing, I’m always thinking too much, of many things, but you made it quiet.”

Next thing he knew, Joe was on his lap.

Hands on his head, Joe brought their noses together, mumbling hurriedly, “You’re not a distraction. That’s not it. It’s not.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been subtle with you for a while and you didn’t realize I liked you, so I’m being obvious,” he said against Nicky’s face, practically kissing his cheek. “I didn’t bring you here for that. I didn’t. But I’m not going to deny thinking about it.”

Setting his hands on Joe’s hips, he steadied him. “Then what do you want.”

“You.”

“You’re certain you’re not confused or anything?”

“Told you, I’ve been thinking of it for a while now.”

Okay. That was good. He knew what he was doing then.

“Me too,” he said. “Since the first day I saw you.”

Joe seemed surprised. “I yelled at you.”

“Still thought you were handsome. Went home and drew you as close as I could remember,” he admitted. “Your face broke my artist’s block.”

Joe moved in fast, kissing Nicky like he was sucking the air out of his lungs.

And Nicky lost all the fight he had in him in that moment, hands roaming Joe’s body as they moaned into each other’s mouths.

“Where are we going with this?” Nicky asked between kisses. “Is this for fun?”

“It’s fun, but not casual if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t do that.”

“Me neither, not anymore.” He raised his head, lips moving against Joe’s as he spoke. “So, if it’s not casual, and you don’t like being serious, what is this?”

“Different kind of serious.”

Before Nicky could come up with more questions, he was pushed back down and kissed harder, rendering his brain to jelly.

When he pulled back with a gasp, Joe panted, “I’ve never been like this with anyone, I don’t think I can stop.”

Wits moving at a snail’s pace, eyelids heavy, Nicky could only stare up at him in awe.

In the moonlight, Joe was all shades and shadows, his hair reflecting like ink, his grin bright enough to rival the moon.

“Why can’t you stop?”

“Feel like you’ll disappear if I do. Trying to get what I can get while you’re here.”

Nicky could only shake his head. “Not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to.”

That smile was dazzling, hypnotizing him. “Good.”

At some point, they ended up back in Joe’s room, making out until they ran out of breath and fell asleep, spooning.

Nicky still felt like something wasn’t right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	12. Chapter 12

The next morning he was pulled into the shower and spent a gratuitous amount of time washing and conditioning Joe’s hair and being taught the steps he took afterwards to keep it in good condition. Brushing it with a special brush while it was damp, rubbing it with anti-frizz and a curl-enhancing cream then scattering it with his fingers.

He took great joy in separating the drying curls with his hands, using the hold on Joe’s head as an excuse to keep kissing him.

After dropping Layla off at school, they headed to the Aubergenie and both went to work. Nicky managed to keep a good track record of not thinking too much about anything other than his drafts and concepts.

Sometime around noon, Sébastien slid into the chair before him with two cups of cappuccino. “Hello, Nicolò. How are you today?”

“Better.” Setting down his pencil, he tried smiling. “Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“About what?”

“You know. Making a scene in front of your customers.”

Sébastien patted his hand. “They understand that it wasn’t either my or your fault. I’ve managed a fair amount of establishments and it’s expected that someone will ruin the mood for everyone else.”

“Really?”

“Usually the people I’ve thrown out were drunk or crashing dinners or yelling at those they dined with, but this isn’t the first time I’ve had to strong-arm someone out of here either.” Sébastien pressed the mug into Nicky’s hand. “Joe told me you were worried about it affecting us, it won’t. Worst he can do is write a one-star review, and we can contest ones that are obviously slander.”

“Oh, good.” He calmed significantly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Whatever you need.”

Playing with his pencil, he asked, “Has Joe seemed a little odd to you lately?”

“He’s always been odd to me,” Sébastien said with a wrinkle of his nose.

“How so?”

“To start, he chews ice, puts ketchup on his pizza and will drink black tea with flavors and milk but not plain. Will even drink his coffee and tea after it’s cold but says iced tea and coffee are disgusting.” He paused, sipping his drink. “Even weirder is how he talks. He’ll never say something but believe we’ve had an entire conversation about it and wonder why I don’t know what he’s talking about. Or he’ll make a conversation about buying honey into one about the Borg from _Star Trek_ then end up asking how birds fly in formation,” he listed off, each seeming to confuse him more than the last.

“Sounds like the honey started a line of thinking about hive minds which went onto the Borg and questioned if birds who fly like that have a mental link,” Nicky reasoned.

“Could be, I wouldn’t know. He jumps topics like that a lot, is what I’m saying,” Sébastien said. “And he just decided we were friends without asking me, quite like how my cat forced his way into our lives.”

“Your cat did what?”

Sébastien took out his phone and showed Nicky a picture of his eldest nephew, Robin, holding a green tabby, his grin missing a few teeth, the cat looking content. “This is Michou. He just showed up at our door, and we started feeding him, then one day he just ran in and never left. Decided this was his home now and we all just accepted it.”

“That’s pretty funny. Wish I had the confidence of a cat.”

“Don’t we all?” Sébastien set down his phone, clearing his throat. “About confidence, has Nile spoken to you about me?”

“She has.”

He looked at him expectantly.

“What do you want me to say exactly?”

“Is she upset with me? She has been avoiding me somewhat for a few days and I can’t tell what I did wrong.”

“Nothing, she’s just anxious.”

“About what?”

On one hand, he didn’t want to betray anything that might have been told to him in confidence. On the other hand, he wanted them to get together smoothly.

“Do you have any scars? Any stories you don’t easily share with people?”

“Plenty.”

“Have you told her about them?”

“I don’t think so, not yet?”

“Do that, it could help her see that you’ll understand her and help her get that she doesn’t need to be so self-conscious.”

Sébastien swore lowly. “Is this about her neck? Did I offend her by asking?”

“No! She just thinks it might be too much for you to handle, it’s why I’m telling you to show her that you have the same problems. It will help her get comfortable.” Nicky raised his phone to him. “Text her a picture of a scar or something, that’ll get a response.”

“I have a stab wound on my side, would that work?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately before thinking it over. “Wait, you were stabbed?”

Sébastien smirked at him. “Twice.”

“That’s a good ice-breaker then, that you’ve both, um, dealt with knives.”

“You could say that.” He traded his phone for his cup, focusing on Nicky. “What did Joe do that worried you?”

“Why do you think I’m worried?”

“You wouldn’t remark on his behavior if it was his regular oddities, like when he rambles about one random topic or has trouble paying attention.” He narrowed his small eyes. “Is it because he punched your ex-boyfriend?”

Hearing Keane referred to as his ex-boyfriend made him jerk. They’d never agreed on any sort of term. “Among other things, yeah.”

Sébastien seemed to get defensive. “He’s not violent. He may have moments where he’s a little short-tempered or cranky, but what happened here is not typical.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of him jumping headfirst into something without taking time to discuss or think about it.”

That made him unwind a little. “He’s always been like that.”

“You sure?”

“I told you, he just burst into my life, decided we were friends, that we were opening a bakery, what the menu was like, to drop out of school after years in it to pursue this, to raise his daughter alone—he doesn’t do second-thoughts much. He’s…” Sébastien curled his lip and raised his hand in an uncertain gesture. “Impulsive, I think you’d call it?”

That made him feel a lot better about everything. It actually helped make sense of their entire experience with one another.

“So, he became your friend kind of like how he showed up at my apartment and decided I was becoming his houseguest?” Nicky stirred sugar into his cup distractedly. “And when he says he would go on dates and ramble about _Star Trek_ , is that part of it?”

Sébastien nodded. “Pretty much. First day we met he talked about how art that doesn’t follow mathematical principles is an assault on his eyes, kept talking about dadaism and expressionism and something called beat poetry like it should be criminalized.”

“But it didn’t turn you off him?”

“To tell the truth, I was so confused and fascinated by him I had no way to respond. He just kept talking and I kept listening.” Sébastien finished his drink in one toss. “His father is also like that, told me about the history of the printing press first time we met.”

Nicky wondered what that sounded like in French.

“His mother doesn’t like you, does she?”

Sébastien made a long-suffering face. “Nesrine doesn’t like anything. Don’t take anything she says personally.”

“Joe hasn’t gotten that memo, it seems.”

“It’s hard to ignore when it’s your mother, and you feel responsible as the remaining son.” His eyes bulged suddenly. “Did he tell you?”

“About Adam? Yeah, that’s what I was working up towards.” Nicky beckoned Sébastien closer to he could whisper, “How impulsive is he exactly when he’s upset?”

“Stupidly so. Why? Did he eat an entire jar of Nutella then throw it up again?”

That would have been preferable.

“He do that a lot?”

“Not so much recently. He has to be careful with that behavior now that Layla notices everything and asks many questions. Can’t risk her adopting those habits.” Sébastien stroked his chin pensively. “Think that’s why he managed to stop biting his nails too. What were we talking about?”

“What he’s like when he’s sad. Aside from binge-eating, he ever do something personal that he regrets?”

“Aside from picking fights with myself and his mother? Not that I’m aware of.” He tapped the table. “Out with it, what happened?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you. It might not be something you know about?”

“I’m his best friend, I’ve heard every embarrassing story, bad memory and worrisome thought he’s ever had.”

“Then you can guess.”

Those dark-blue eyes fixated on him for a good minute before he swore, louder than before, and left without a word.

Puzzled, Nicky watched him disappear through the side-door, followed by Jessie. After what just occurred sank in, he realized that he had screwed up terribly.

He’d grilled his best friend, of course Sébastien was going to tattle on him.

Mind screaming with the worst case scenario, Nicky packed his things and ran out.

Wandering the streets in a fugue for he didn’t know how long, he ended up at his apartment.

Caterina and their grandmother were inside.

Settling him at the coffee table, Caterina puttered about the kitchen, talking to someone via her Bluetooth speakers, while Flora watched him with heart-wrenching eyes as he, spaced out, recounted certain events from the past week and his experience with Keane.

“Nico, sweetie, I think you need to start on some medication.”

“Spoken like a nurse and not my grandmother.”

Annoyed, she smacked him upside the head. “Don’t talk to me like that when I’m trying to help.”

“That stuff isn’t going to help. It’s only going to make me worse like Uncle Pietro’s wife and son.”

“You are not Iolanda, you have valid problems that can be fixed. Unless you’re worried about going the way Julian did…”

Unease spread between them. Julian was the cousin who’d been found dead in his car.

“At least go to therapy?” she said sadly. “Please, for me?”

Too weak to deny her, he agreed.

Flora wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair. He felt the urge to cry and probably did as he melted in her embrace.

He missed being a child, where the only thing he had enough awareness to worry about were school and Caterina. When he could just cuddle with his grandmother and their cat in front of the TV and not be rendered a complete mess by just his thoughts.

“Are you…seeing that baker?” she asked.

“Do you want to know the answer to that?”

She made a noise at the back of her throat. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand it, I don’t know if I want to. But after so many things going wrong in our family, all I want now in my old age is for you to be happy.” She stroked his hair. “He punched that demon for you, I’m going to assume he’s a good man.”

“He is.”

“Then you need to bring him and his daughter to dinner soon.”

“You want to feed him?”

“And I’d love to threaten him with your grandfather’s shotgun. I’m sure your father would to.”

“Dad would scare him off worse than you would just by talking to him.”

Flora chuckled fondly, kissing the side of his head, and Nicky melted further.

At some point, he had fallen asleep.

Caterina shook him awake. “We need to take you home.”

“M’home,” he mumbled, bleary-eyed.

“I mean back to Joe.” She raised her phone. “Jessie says he’s losing his mind about you disappearing on him.”

Shit!

Scrambling up and out into Flora’s car, her and Caterina dropped him off at Joe’s house where he bubbled with anxiety.

On the doorstep, poised to knock, he heard sounds of an argument and checked first through the window bordering the door.

Joe and his sister stood in the entryway, her hands on her hips and his arms crossed.

“You sure he’s coming back?”

“That’s what his sister said, I told you that three times already.”

“I’m just worried. This is the second time he scares me like this.”

“He’ll be out of your hair by the end of the week, and he’ll keep doing this on his own.”

Joe hunched. “I don’t want him to go. Or at least have him over a few times a week.”

Jessie gave Joe an unimpressed look. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?”

“Our parents have the same age-gap. Mama was even younger when she got married.”

“Yeah, but you’re both guys. Maturity level and all that,” she said off-handedly, tapping around her phone. “I’m just saying, you can’t expect him to be down to play house with you forever.”

 _“Yasmina, itlami!”_ he hissed at her.

She raised her hands in mock-surrender. “You going to tell Mère and Père then?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? If you don’t, Layla will.”

Joe’s body stiffened. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, you clearly didn’t think any of this through. Typical.” Jessie tutted at them humorously before stopping abruptly. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

“You’re having some kind of tantrum. That’s what all this is about.”

At that, Nicky’s heart fell to his heels.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You never got to rebel when you were younger and now you’re trying to piss them off.”

“Yasmina, do you have any idea how insulting that is?”

Jessie picked up her things and made it towards the door. “Whatever you’re doing, find someone else who’s down for that. He seems like he has enough problems of his own.”

“Who doesn’t have problems?”

“Lots of people, I know many who straight-up invent problems because their lives are so boringly stable.” She picked up her coat, approaching the door. “Look, if you’re not going to tell them, you should just go date Quynh like Mother Dearest wants and leave him alone.”

Nicky jumped to the side, hiding from her view as she headed out and got into a car near the house.

After she left, he waited what must have been thirty minutes before knocking on the door.

Upon opening, Joe pulled him inside and into a rib-cracking hug. “You scared me!”

“Sorry.”

Joe held him firmly by the arms, searching his face. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I just kind of panicked.”

“Why?” Joe asked. “From what?”

“I thought you were going to be mad at me and I can’t handle that.”

God, he sounded pathetic.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Did Sébastien not tell him?

“I told Nile,” was what he went with.

“About?”

Nicky gestured between them.

“Oh.”

Quietly, Joe led him to his room, Layla’s was already closed and dark. How long had he been gone?

With a change of clothes, he’d been arranged on the bed while Joe paced before him.

“Are we not going to tell people?”

Joe flexed his fingers, then clenched them. “I didn’t think too much about that, about what could change.”

“So?”

“I don’t know.” Joe shook his head animatedly as he got on the bed, straddling him. “I need to think.”

“What do you know then?”

He nuzzled their noses together. “That I want you.”

“As what, your fuck-buddy? I get that you want to try stuff, but I don’t think I can handle being an experiment. Not again.”

The anger in his voice led to Joe’s grip slipping from Nicky’s head to his shoulders to smash their faces together, kissing with heated desperation.

Nicky pushed him off. “What the hell is going on?”

“We’ve already had this conversation, I’m ending it before we argue.”

“And what did we say, remind me?”

Joe held his face, thumbing his cheeks. “That we’d be together.”

They definitely hadn’t said that. Nicky would remember.

“Is that what you really want?”

“It is,” Joe said. “But I’m starting you think you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Then why are you so resistant? It’s making me feel like you’re putting up with me.”

“Because this is going so fast, it’s making my head spin.”

“Is that why you ran? It’s too much?” Joe rolled off him, landing on his side on the mattress, eyes appearing so heart-wrenchingly large and sad. “Am I scaring you off?”

“It’s making me wonder what your end goal is here.”

“Do I have to have one?”

“Yes, I really need to know that you won’t change your mind in a week.”

“A week? Does that happen?”

“It’s happened to me. I told you, I can’t handle that again.”

Joe nodded, looking up at him sideways. “What did you tell Nile exactly?”

“Am I not supposed to tell anyone, is this a secret?”

“It can’t be, my daughter knows, and so does my sister. I think Sébastien does too.”

He started sweating. “What did he say to you?”

“Asked a few direct questions about what we’re getting up to here, then told me to ‘think about it’.”

“Meaning?”

Joe made an awkward face. “I have a tendency to leap before I look, but it usually turns out fine. I don’t have it in me to overthink or calculate, I either do or say something the second I think of it or I don’t.”

While they were at it Nicky had to know what Jessie meant before it ate it him for days.

“Are you lashing out? Sticking it to your family’s need to set you up?” He almost stuttered. “Is that what’s going on?”

Joe’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

His face tightened, annoyed more than angry. “Did Jessie tell you something?”

“Not exactly.” Nicky’s voice cracked, making him feel even worse. “I just need to know you won’t change your mind, because I can’t take this lightly. I’m already invested.”

Joe made a few false starts before blaring out. “I have ADHD, it’s gotten worse in the past couple of years because of the stress and everything, but I’m fine. I have moments where I’m a little out there or unreasonable, but I’m very present and aware of what’s going on. Usually.” His brows came up and together, cow-eyed and worried. “If that explains anything.”

“ADHD…makes sense.”

That explained the impulsivity and mood swings at least.

Joe stretched his neck, pressing his forehead against Nicky’s. “If you have anything on your mind, just ask from the start. We can talk it out, I promise I won’t get mad.”

“Not even if it’s a stupid or insulting thought?”

“I’d rather you think I’m being an idiot than disappear on me like that again.” He looked into Nicky’s eyes, his own so sad and shiny. “I was worried sick about you.”

Nicky’s heart and lungs slowed their overworked state, making him sink against Joe in a kiss. “Sorry.”

“Anything else you want to get out of the way now?”

“My grandma wants to meet you. She thinks I’m seeing you.”

“Your grandma’s fine with it?”

“Think she doesn’t have enough fight left in her to stick to her usual belief that this is weird, she just wants to see me settled down in some shape or form.”

Joe grinned at him, playful. “You could definitely do worse than me.”

“Shut up, you fell out of a romcom.”

When Joe laughed, the stressful spell was over. “I’m that dreamy, huh?”

“You’re perfect, which makes me wonder what you even like about me.”

“Nicky, most days I’m a mess keeping it together for my family. And I told you, I feel like I’m known you for ages. We just connected in a way I’ve never felt with anyone,” Joe said, pressing his lips softly along Nicky’s jaw. “I wanted you in any way I could have, as a friend or a partner.”

“Partner, that serious?”

“Boyfriend sounds a little juvenile for someone my age, don’t you think, _mi amor?_ ” he purred.

Nicky cringed, leaning back. _“Amore mio.”_

Joe blinked at him, confused. “Huh?”

“ _Mi amor_ is Spanish. _Amore mio_ is Italian.”

He ducked his head, teeth clenched. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

“It’s fine, everyone gets them mixed up.”

“No, it’s not fine, it’s annoying.” Joe spun his finger around, flustered. “I just got it mixed up with the French _mon amour_ , since I thought Italian was closer to French? Just how different are Spanish and Italian? Do you understand Spanish? I bet it sounds very weird, but can you if you read it? Have you heard Portuguese, it sounds so strange, they also pronounce the J as a J like we do in English and French—”

He was rambling. It was adorable.

Nicky pecked his lips, whispering, “ _Habibi_ , it’s fine.”

Joe shuddered, leaning back in to press his nose to Nicky’s. “Say that again.”

A thrill rushed through him, raising the hair on his arms. He pressed his mouth to Joe’s cheek, whispering, “What? _Habibi?_ ”

Joe pounced him, and suddenly Nicky was on his back, legs hiked up as Joe ground against him and kissed all along his jaw and neck, pushing his shirt up until he took it off.

Raising his hips, he let Joe fully undress him, mind turning to mush as he surrendered to the sensation. “For someone with no experience, you seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Following my gut,” he gasped into his ear. “Might wanna get used to that idea, so you don’t keep getting weirded out by me skipping steps.”

“If you’d just told me that about you from the start, I feel like this would have been easier for me to grasp.”

Joe kissed down his chest. “We can play Twenty Questions later.”

There was no chance to respond when Joe’s mouth reached its target.

To keep quiet, he ended up having his shirt shoved in his mouth for the entire time Joe’s head bobbed between his shaking thighs.

In the haze of his release, he had turned on his side so Joe could press up behind him and use his thighs to get off, moaning into his ear the entire time.

They fell asleep like that, and Nicky had an unsettling dream. Not quite a nightmare like his usual jarring sequences, but one that had him questioning reality when he woke, heart pounding.

In it Joe had denied they’d ever been intimate, that Nicky had made it all up in his head, and was dating the woman called Quynh. He had been left to stare after them, crying miserably as they walked away, Layla between them, holding onto their hands.

It had felt so real, he couldn’t stop thinking about it the entire next morning as they went through what had become a routine. Showering, changing clothes, packing what he needed for the day, getting Layla ready and dropping her off at school and heading into work.

He was pretty much done with the ideas for the Aubegenie’s branding and needed to hunker down and get everything done digitally tonight, assuming he’d have no more incidents. He continued working on the _Stargazer Lily_ concept, drawing backgrounds inspired by the pictures Joe had shown him of his parents’ countries, others modeled after Ancient Rome, and a handful of creature designs, like the black hole-ghouls, a pegasus and a grab-bag of ideas from Greek mythology.

For some maddening reason, the myth that kept jumping to the forefront of his mind was Icarus as he sketched his shameless self-insert. Icarus had flown too close to the sun, melted the wax of his wings and fallen to his death in the sea.

Plenty liked to personify this folly of youth as Icarus being in love with the sun and burning himself to reach it.

Few remember that the sun was a god, not a goddess, be it Helios or Apollo. And in his mind it now had Joe’s face, in a white-and-yellow color scheme, the outline of his curls a crown of rays.

Despite the churning in his gut, he’d made Zahra’s father, the Sun King capable of glowing or producing sunlight.

When Jessie came in for work they locked eyes briefly, and he knew he must have looked like a cornered rabbit.

 _“Sabah el-kheir,”_ he greeted her, barely able to pronounce the last word.

Staring at him confusedly, like she hadn’t expected him to be here, she responded with _“Sabah el-nour.”_

From behind the counter, she watched him, possibly expecting him to bolt again.

Then he had to ask, “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Jessie folded her arms on the surface, her dark eyes almost unblinking. “He thought you got run over again, you know.”

“What?”

“You just vanished, so he thought you ran out into the street and got hit again. Or that your ex found you,” she said. “Kept listing off all these crazy conclusions. I’ve only ever seen him that worried about me or Layla.”

Guilt filled him with an uneasy feeling, like he’d drunk a gallon of oil. “Jesus.”

“Safe to say, he really likes you. So, can you not do that again?”

He swallowed. “And how do you feel about that? Him liking me?”

“Never really cared about who my brothers got involved with until they started bringing them to family dinners, but my dad says you were already at one of those.” She clicked her tongue. “They don’t seem to have a clue yet.”

The unease worsened. “How would they react?”

“Well,” she drew-out the word as a long note. “They’re not religious, but they are pretty conservative. By here’s standards, at least.”

“What do you mean?”

“As in back in their homes, they’d be super progressive, but here? Not so much.” Jessie played with her hair, rolling the curls between her fingers. “Took a while for them to accept Adam dating, then living with Lara before marrying her, which was _scandalous_. Then Joe dropping out of university was a disaster. Befriending Sébastien was another one. They really want Joe to get married and give Lily three siblings because ‘people are gonna talk’ about him reaching thirty-five with no wife.” She rolled her eyes, curling her fingers into air-quotes, “Very ‘proper’ is what I’m saying. Like something out of a Jane Austen novel.”

“I see.”

Jessie snorted, shaking her head. “I get what you’re aiming at, and all I can tell you is that they’ve regularly interacted with gay people, my dad even had a friend at work who married a guy. But I don’t think they’d handle it well coming from their own family.”

“What do I do then?”

“Either save yourself the headache and stop, or do what I do.” Jessie held her hands out, nose in the air triumphantly. “Do whatever you want and tell them to get used to it.”

“Is it stupid if I say I want them to like me?”

“Our dad already likes you, think the only thing that’d get him to change his mind is if you did something really messed up.”

“And your mom?”

“Pfft, she didn’t admit she liked Lara until she was pregnant, so don’t worry about her too much.”

Pregnant.

Joe said they had gone on a late honeymoon. Was his sister-in-law pregnant when the car…

He was going to be sick.

No wonder he became a wreck just thinking about them, and wondering about the what-ifs. He must have felt like he not just killed them, but his niece or nephew as well.

At some point, Sébastien had come in and taken over the customer service while Jessie left for her afternoon class. After that Joe had come out for a break and they spoke to each other in French for half an hour, the tone was strained and snippy, bickering.

Switching to English, Sébastien said, “You’re both a little deranged if you think this will work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joe says _"Yasmina, gather yourself!"_ or _"Behave!"_
> 
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	13. Chapter 13

Hearing that assessment, Nicky felt the urge to run out again.

“How did you survive this long being so self-defeating?”

“There’s taking a risk that will pay off and there’s being stupid, Youssef.” Sébastien set his hands on his shoulders. “It’s not a good idea in the long-run, trust me. It will end with you miserable, exhausted and having a breakdown, again.”

“Then what do we do?”

He clapped Joe on the back before pushing him out of the serving area. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew, but don’t sell yourself short either. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Any more phrases you want to throw out at me, _Oncle Bastien_?”

“Bite me.”

Joe laughed all the way to Nicky’s table. “How’s it going?”

Still trying to make sense of what he and probably everyone in here heard, he just showed Joe what he drafted so far.

Joe lit up, pointing at a figure. “Is that me?”

“Zahra’s father, yeah. Haven’t given him a name other than Sun King yet. Any suggestions?”

“Mounir?” he suggested. “It means _bright_ or _luminous_ , in the same vein as Zahra being _bright_.”

“Fitting.” He scribbled the name over the character. “I thought Zahra meant ‘flower’.”

“It does, but it can also mean ‘bright’ or ‘clear’. Different spelling though.”

“How many words for the same thing are there?”

Joe instantly appeared exhausted. “Arabic has half a dozen synonyms for any word that exists, even animals have more than one name.”

“Why?”

“Probably because it’s old as hell and kept accumulating new words without parting with the old ones entirely. Latin is also like that, right?”

“Yeah, everything changes drastically depending on the context.”

“How similar is it to Italian?”

“Eh, not that similar? There are some fundamental differences you wouldn’t expect.”

“Like?”

“First thing that comes to mind is the word for _star_. In Latin it’s _astra_ , in Italian it’s _stella_.”

“I never thought of that.” Joe’s fingers reached for his. “Stella is a pretty name.”

“For what, a cat?”

“No, a girl.” He cocked his hear, watching him curiously. “What would you name your kids?”

“I’m never having any. Not like it’s easy in my case.” Before the question in Joe’s eyes could reach his lips, he added, “Even if it were, no offense, but I don’t want to do that alone.”

“None taken, but why are you alone in this scenario?”

He fidgeted with his pencil. “Who’s going to start a family with me?”

Joe’s response was a worried stare. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You look like you’re ready to run off again.” He tightened his hold on Nicky’s hand. “If this topic is making you uncomfortable just say so.”

“It is.”

But it was mostly what he’d overheard that was worming its way through his head. That Sébastien was trying to discourage Joe from continuing with him.

Because while Joe was impulsive and skipped steps, and got ahead of himself, he also had an old-fashioned family.

Nicky couldn’t stop thinking of that awful dream. Of Quynh, the faceless woman Nesrine approved of, who Joe had run off to meet with after calling him, to return at nine o’clock with no follow-up stories.

It didn’t help that any time he tried explaining how he felt they’d rush the conversation and start screwing around.

Rationally, he knew he needed to create a distance, to stop. But he couldn’t. He wanted him so bad and he was gone the second he tasted him.

What did he do now that Sébastien said they were both crazy for trying this? An outside perspective was usually the right one.

This was going to end terribly, just like all his attempts did. Just like everything else in his life did. But some delusional part of him wanted to hope otherwise, because he wanted this, wanted him, wanted to not upset Layla or lose her smiles.

Joe squeezed his hand. “Nico?”

Shaking his head like a wet dog, Nicky snapped out it. Mostly. “Beppe.”

“What?”

“If I’m Nico then you’re Beppe.”

“Oh, yeah, you told me.” Joe huffed out a breathy chuckle, dimples emerging alongside his teeth. “It’s cute. You should use it.”

His bottom teeth were crooked. Finally, an imperfection. Proof he didn’t hallucinate him.

They sat like that, Joe’s thumb stroking his knuckles, a touch that soothed Nicky somehow despite being so simple.

“About names, any more you want to add to the story?” Nicky cleared his throat, showing him a page with character designs. “Made a cast of background characters for the lands, and a little team of friends for Zahra. You said animals had a lot of names?”

“There’s a bunch, like an eagle is _nisr_ , a falcon is _saqr_ or _baz_ , but both can be called the poetic term _haitham_ , which is used as a boy’s name. Same goes for most of the lion’s names, which are the most.”

“Like?”

“The standard word is _assad_.”

“Like the president of Syria?”

“Mhm. Then there’s the ones used as first names like Laith, Oussama, Durgham and uhhh.” He turned his head back, thinking loudly. “There’s at least another two. I’ll have to ask my mom.”

“What do your family’s names mean? Does your mom’s name from the word for eagle?”

He shook his head. “Nesrine is a type of white rose, and Yasmina is, well, jasmine. My aunt Lobna is a type of tree, and my grandma—mom’s mom—was Camellia, also a flower. Dad’s sister is Fulla, again a flower. His grandma was Zahra,” He paused. “Must have a generational trend or something.”

“And the men?”

“My brother and I are, you know, Joseph and Adam. Our dad, grandfather and great-grandfather are Elyes, Ibrahim and Nouh—Elijah, Abraham and Noah. So, there’s a theme, I guess.” His eyes rolled up to the right, deep in thought. “Mom’s side, her dad was Mohamed-Sobhi, answered to just Sobhi, which I think means ‘my morning’? That’s what it sounds like, at least.”

“That’s kind of cute.”

Joe stuck out the tip of his tongue, finding that point amusing. “My mom’s brother was—” he pointed at himself. “Other brother is Amir, which means _prince_ , and her nephews are Sami, Zain, and Wisam which are— _sublime_ , _beauty_ , and _handsomeness_.”

“Beauty and handsomeness in one go?”

He cracked up a little. God, he loved his face. “That’s another concept that has a lot of different words. Zain, Wisam, Wasim, Jamal, Hassan, Hussein all mean some variation of ‘beautiful’.”

“What would you name a boy then, now that you named Layla?”

“Adam.” His smile dimmed slightly. “I helped Adam and Lara pick out boy names, they believed they were going to have one as their firstborn because both sides of their family had boys first. Agreed on English first names and Arabic middle ones.”

“Was Lara similar to you guys?”

“She had a Russian dad and Egyptian mom. They met on our family trip to Sharm El Sheikh in Sinai,” he recounted fondly. “Said they’d name the first boy Alexander Youssef, because both their moms are from Alexandria.”

“Would they have called him Sasha?”

Joe shook his head. “Eskandar. Lara said Americans making Sasha a girl’s name pissed her off.”

That popped a bubble of amusement in his chest. “Eskandar, is that the Arabic version?”

He hummed. “What’s the Italian version?”

“Alessandro.”

“Sounds so musical. Nickname is Alessio?”

“Sandro. Alessio is Alexis.”

“Pretty fascinating, that we have versions of the same things because our histories are so connected.” Joe’s smile lines were out in full-force. “What would all our names be in Italian.”

“Rosa Bianca, Elia, Adamo, Giuseppe and Gelsomina,” he translated.

“What about Lily?”

“Layla means ‘ _night’_ specifically?”

Joe lulled his head from side to side. “More like ‘nightly’ or ‘nocturnal’ or even ‘one night’ specifically. Context is a bitch that way.”

“So, depending on the spelling Layla Zahra could mean ‘bright night’ or ‘night-blooming flower’?”

“Exactly.” Joe seemed so happy with that summation, Nicky felt like he was going to overheat and combust from having that mood aimed at him. “I know flower is _fiore_ , right?”

Nicky nodded. “Other meaning of Zahra would be Chiara, which is a popular name. Layla would just be _notturna_ I think.”

“No equivalent?”

“Nope. In terms of theme, nocturnal names would be Luna or Stella.”

“The Moon has a bunch of names in Arabic, it’s pretty—”

“Joe!” Nile’s mom, Patricia, had stuck her head out the side door and was beckoning him closer. “Is this white stuff a flour or a starch, because we may have used a cup of it for the tart pastry.”

Groaning, Joe stood. “Looks like my break is over and someone used the _sahlab_ mix for dough.”

“That could be an interesting creation,” Nicky suggested. “Maybe try baking it and see what happens.”

“I was going to throw it out, but that’s actually a good idea.” He leaned over and pecked Nicky on the cheek, making him jump in his seat. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just took me by surprise is all.”

“Why?”

“Never had a guy be affectionate with me in public before.”

“You’re Italian, don’t you all hug and kiss each other like we do on my end of the Mediterranean?”

“We do, but it’s different here, in this culture.”

Joe was displeased by that reminder. “Yeah, it is. Annoying, isn’t it? But at least we can do this without having to worry about anything more than people being dicks.” He kissed Nicky’s knuckles before stepping back and away. “Will update you on how it turns out.”

Nicky managed to suppress the urge to run back to Caterina until Nile entered, followed by her boss, Andy.

“You have to drink something other than black coffee,” Nile was telling her. “Seriously, try something sweet for once.”

“I’ve never been a candy and cakes person.”

“This is a different kind of sweet, not processed or unnatural.” Nile pushed her towards the showcase. “Trust me on this, just pick whatever.”

“Whatever?”

“Line-of-sight, play eenie-meenie-mini-mo, whatever you land on, it’s all great.”

Sébastien came around to greet her. “I’m glad you think so.”

Andy held out her arms, excited. “This must be Monsieur Baguette.”

Nile looked like her soul had left her body, squeaking, “I told you to stop.”

If she expected him to get offended, he just found it amusing, shaking Andy’s hand. “It's Monsieur Lelièvre, actually. You must be the Grease Monkey. Is that what they’re called?”

“Unfortunately, though I’m more of a horse-person. A Grease Pony, if you will.”

“Understandable. Horses are majestic, but we can’t get around with them anymore, we have to settle for motorcycles.”

That seemed to impress her. “You ride?”

“I used to, but I have a family now and we need a car to get around. Can’t pack all three on the seat behind me.”

Andy gave him a worrying grin. “In some countries you can get away with that.”

“Not here though, thank God,” Nile interrupted. “Also, motorcycles are not worth the risks.”

“I’m aware. I still miss it. The speed, the rush, where else can I get that?”

“Rollercoasters,” Nile told him. “Man, I haven’t been on one of those in years.”

“Then we should go to an amusement park soon, maybe over the boys’ winter break?”

Nile beamed at him. “Sounds like a plan.”

When they shared a quick kiss, Nicky couldn’t help feeling happy for them. Things had worked out since yesterday.

Andy gagged at them. “Really? In front of your customers?”

Nile stuck her tongue out playfully. “You’re just bitter that you’re the only single one left at the garage.”

“It’s not like it’s easy finding someone.”

“Andy, you need to leave the garage and your apartment to meet people.”

“And go where?”

“Want me to invite you places? Because you’ll have to come if I do, no excuses.” Nile nudge her further towards the showcase. “Start being a little adventurous, try something new.”

Andy rubbed at her shoulder, where Nicky could spy a bullet wound scar. “I had the same adventure you and Lykon did, and that was enough for my old bones.”

“You’re forty, not ninety.”

“Tell that to my knees.” She peered through the glass, hands on her hips. “What’s baklava doing in your shop, Jean-François?”

“It’s a fusion place. Try it, Joe makes it with rosewater!” Nile left her with Sébastien, who had opened the case for her and rushed towards Nicky.

“Hey, how did things—hi!” Nicky found Nile practically throwing herself in his lap, hugging his head to her chest. “Good day?”

“I showed him my scar, and he showed me a whole bunch of his, and we finally kissed and it’s all because you talked to him.” She pulled back and peppered his face with kisses that tickled him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I was so sure I’d screwed things up between us but it got better.”

He managed to wrap his arms around her in a light hug. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Nile fell back into the spot Joe had just left, giddy, stars shining in her doe-eyes. “I may now need to call in that babysitting favor so he and I can have a proper date-night. Think you and Joe can take the boys next weekend?”

“I think I’m going back to my apartment on Monday?”

She gave him a weird look. “And?”

“And?”

“And you’re not going back to his house after that? Is it a portal that closes until the next eclipse? What?”

How did he explain that he didn’t expect this to continue the second he left Joe’s sight?

He checked the time on his phone, it was almost time to pick Layla up from school. “I can talk Catia into watching them with me at our apartment?”

“Mmm, no.” She wrinkled her nose at the idea. “They’re used to Joe so they’ll listen to him. And they’ve been at his place a lot, it’s more familiar, a less stressful environment especially for Pierre.”

“Ask Sébastien to talk it out with Joe then? It’s his house.”

“Ooo-kay,” she said slowly, giving him the side-eye. “What now?”

“Now what?”

“You tell me.”

“Nothing.”

“Dude, you’re giving me weird vibes. What’s wrong?”

“I think I made a huge mistake, going with him,” he blurted out.

“That’s your anxiety talking.”

“Being cautious doesn’t mean you have anxiety.”

“Anxiety usually comes hand-in-hand with PTSD, which both of us have. Don’t deny it.”

He opened his mouth to object but she shushed him. “Look, I almost sabotaged all the headway I made with Sébastien by imagining the worst, and it looks like you’re in a worse state and are doing the same.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Just let it be.”

Echoes of his conversation with Jessie, and what he overheard from Joe’s conversations with her and Sébastien, plus him trying to gauge Joe’s headspace from himself and his best friend all rotated in his head like a morbid merry-go-round.

Nile slammed the table, rattling a shout of him. “Get out of your head! Whatever you’re obsessing over, stop it!”

“What would you know?”

“Two years ago, I was you. I still am some days, and I’m telling you it’s a slippery slope you don’t wanna get on. It’s hard to climb back up.” Nile pointed her finger at him, almost accusing. “Take the advice you gave me earlier about Bas, give what you have with Joe a chance.”

He had started trembling, palms and even his feet were sweaty. “What if it’s a bad idea from the start? What if we’re wrong for each other and I’m setting myself up for a meltdown? What if it goes wrong? ”

“You have to be confident that it won’t.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then do it anyway and be pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t go to shit.”

The side door opened and Joe and Patricia emerged to talk to Sébastien, who took a break from his deep discussion with Andy, who was resting against the case, eating a plate of samplers.

Out the corner of his eye, Nicky watched them until Joe approached with a plate of pale shortbread biscuits. “We’ve decided that you’re our guinea pigs today.”

Nile picked a biscuit. “Are we getting something to drink at least?”

“Just try it first.”

Nicky obliged, breaking a piece off with his teeth. It smelled a little like the drink Joe had made them, had a thick, starchy consistency as well, with a hint of vanilla. “Don’t think I’ve ever had anything like this.”

“Because Trish just made it by accident.” Joe bit into one himself, savoring it. “We were going to throw out the dough but Nicky suggested we try it first.”

“Think you have a new signature cookie to open the next shop with.” Nile snuck two more biscuits. “How’s that going, by the way?”

“We’re almost done with the process.” He tapped Nicky’s sketchpad. “You need to finish the branding this week, it will help the whole thing come together.”

“Done,” he said, nibbling on his _sahlab_ biscuit. He could probably stress-eat an entire box of these.

“Then we need to drop you and Lily back home so you can get to it.”

“‘Kay.”

As they left, Joe’s hand on his back, he checked behind him to see Sébastien and Nile chatting as he made Andy a box to-go. They both were in an upbeat, cheery mood. Happy together. How did they manage this without being weighed down by the dread of it going wrong?

It didn’t matter that Nile encouraged him, Sébastien’s _‘You’re both a little deranged if you think this would work’_ spun in his mind like the wheel of a speeding car.

“God, this song.” Joe turned up the volume as they approached the school’s street. “It’s always in my head these days, whenever I have a thoughtless minute it plays.”

 _Eternal Flame_ by the Bangles. It usually came up on the radio Caterina set her streaming service on. He’d hear it among other similar songs through her bedroom door or headphones.

He also recognized it as the song Joe was humming early in their relationship. “Why this one and not _Walk Like an Egyptian_?”

Joe smacked his arm lightly. “Shut up.”

“It’s an honest question.”

“Is your earworm _We No Speak Americano_? Or _Mambo Italiano_?”

The joke caught him off guard, he felt his chest rattle with a surprised guffaw. “More like _Mambo No. 5_.”

“That one sticks like glue. But it could be worse.”

“Worse how? _Rasputin_ by Boney M worse?”

“Closer to _September_ by Earth, Wind and Fire, because I have no idea what they’re saying.” He sang the notes from the song, barely any coherent lyrics ending with a high-pitched _“There never was a cloudy day!”_

“That’s all you know?”

“Uh-huh. Painful, to have it in your head and not know a word.”

“Look up the lyrics?” he suggested.

“I did, I swear. They just don’t stick because _I still can’t hear them_.” Joe emphasized, like the thought was maddening.

“Could be worse still. Could be in another language, now you have no way to understand it.”

“Could be in no language, like _Crazy Frog_ or the _Hamster Dance_ thing.” He groaned, rolling his head. “Remember those? And _Caramelldansen_ or whatever the hell that was?”

“I think so?” He paused trying to remember what they sounded like, muttering the notes until he reached a shocking conclusion. “Joe. _Joe._ The Hamster Dance is the _Whistle Stop_ from _Robin Hood_ sped up.”

_“Robin Hood?”_

“The Disney version, with all the animals.”

He slowed as they reached traffic, humming the song. “Holy shit, you’re right. What was the idea behind that you think? The animals bit.”

“Guessing it started as an adaptation of Reynard the Fox then halfway they figured there was no way to make it kid-friendly.” Nicky wiped his palms on his jeans, finding that he had calmed significantly. “That’s what my grandma thinks at least.”

Nicky watched him drum on the steering wheel, humming grudgingly along to the radio, captivated by this simple moment and how it filled him with an inexplicable yearning. He was in this moment, but his nervous mind wouldn’t let him enjoy it, too busy throwing every worst-case scenario at the walls of his mind to see which outcome stuck.

A conversation about ear-worms did that?

“I’ve heard of that. No idea what the story is, aside from Reynard just meaning ‘fox’.”

Intrigue raised his brows. “It does?”

“In French at least, it’s _renard_. What is it in Italian?”

“ _Volpe_. In Arabic?”

“ _Ta’lab._ My mom claims it’s somehow where the word _sahlab_ came from, but they don’t sound that similar to me.”

“No, they don’t.” He rested back in his seat, tense stiffness lessening as the conversation went on. “Did you remember the other words for lion?”

“Two or three. There’s Haidar, Bassel and I think Abbas, not sure about the last. But it fits.” He made a slippery sound with his lips then a pop! “Think there’s actually more names…”

“How come Abbas fits?”

“Because Abbas means _Frowny_. Guess it means the face a lion makes when it roars?”

For some reason, that concept delighted him, thinking of how grouchy his cat Allegro used to appear. “You’ve heard of Felix the Cat, get ready for Frowny the Lion!”

“Please name a pet lion that. Make it the king’s familiar or something.” Joe aimed a hopeful grin at him and Nicky felt like Icarus’ wings, melting from the sun’s heat. “Lily’s character is getting a cat, right? Think I should get her one?”

“She’s old enough to understand pets aren’t toys, so, yeah.” Nicky’s latent sadness leaped at the memory of his pet. “I miss having a cat. They’re good company, low maintenance, big personalities in little bodies.”

“Much be why they’re so cranky.”

“Not always. Nonna’s cat is a sweetheart.” He checked the radio, another old earworm was on now, _Take On Me_ by a-ha. “Depends on what you’re expecting. Can’t expect a cat to act like a dog and get mad at it when it doesn’t.”

“If only everyone understood that. Not everyone can function a certain way, and getting mad at them when they don’t just makes things worse.”

That hit too close to home now, considering Nile had told him to ignore his mind’s warnings. “And you’d know about that?”

“I had trouble sitting still and paying attention and even retaining certain kinds of information. School was hell.”

“But you can remember earworms?”

“That’s against my will!” Joe pointed at him, comically serious. “Now that I’ve had time to think, the worst earworm is _Cotton Eyed Joe_.”

“I’ll do you one better, _Mah Nà Mah Nà_ from _The Muppet Show_.”

“No!” Joe howled. “Goddamn you, why did you remind me of that?”

He couldn’t help feeling some Joe at his expense. “Does that mean I win?”

“Nicky, that’s going to be in my head until they start playing Christmas music in shops! You just doomed me!”

“Join the club, pal. Whenever I have a moment of peace that’s the first thing that shows up.”

Traffic finally let up and they reached the line of cars in the pick-up area. He scanned the crowd of kids in uniforms filing out of the stone building, wondering if this is the kind of school he would have attended had his family been able to afford it.

“What’s your dreaded Christmas song?”

“ _Silent Night_ , I hate it. It sounds so depressing. ” Joe put the car on Neutral and massaged his wrists. “What’s yours?”

 _“Feliz Navidad.”_ He danced in his seat a little. _“Feliz Navidad.”_

“ _Prospero año y felici_ —fuck you.” Joe unbuckled his belt and rounded on him, fingers at his sides. “Fuck you, you did that on purpose.”

Nicky laughed more from slipping another earworm into Joe’s head than the tickling, but it sure added to his climbing fit.

Then he snorted, and Joe acted like he’d uncovered gold.

Joe’s laughter filled the air, the sound waves buzzing throughout Nicky, making him unwind against his expectations, like he was starting to become tipsy.

“You snort!” He increased the speed of his tickling, bypassing Nicky’s evasive squirms. “You snort, that’s adorable.”

“No, it’s not. I hate it, I can’t stop.”

A beep from behind them reminded them where they were.

In the midst of their giggle-high, they moved further down the line. Every time their eyes met they’d giggle harder.

“Shut up,” Nicky told him. “I just know you’re going to keep bringing it up.”

“Why are you mad? It just means I got a genuine laugh out of you for once.”

“Does it?” He tapped him on the shoulder to put his seatbelt back on. “What’s your tell then?”

“If I laugh really hard I start crying.”

“Never thought I’d say ‘I want to make you cry’ but here we are.”

Joe’s hand landed on his knee as they pulled up to their turn. “I’m down as long as it’s from laughter. Can’t have you giving me another scare any time soon.”

Nicky didn’t know if he could promise that.

Layla leaped into the backseat with a triumphant cry of “Weekend!”

It was Friday? Right, she’d missed a few days from school to cope with the accident.

“Woo-hoo,” Joe whooped. “Better do all your work first-thing so you can spend the whole time with Eliana.”

“I just got out of school!”

“The sooner you get work out of the way, the longer the time you have to goof around,” Nicky said. “I used to do my homework at school so I could spend hours online and drawing.”

“What he said.” Joe squeezed his thigh once before returning his hand to the steering wheel. “I can’t wait til we’re done with the first stage of this franchise thing, I’m starting to get into the anxious stage of my impatience. Sébastien practically yelled at me earlier because I kept bugging him with ideas.”

Could that have been what they were arguing about? “I need to finish my work fast then.”

“You can finish it while I do mine,” Layla offered.

“Sounds like a plan.”

And that’s what happened. At the dinner table, Layla worked through her homework while he had scanned, arranged and redrew the design, shop’s name, and painstakingly picked out the best colors and figured out how overlay a genie bottle etching pattern in a way that didn’t distract from the overall design.

Centering the eggplant bottle in a gold circle, below it the title of _Aubergenie_ in corresponding green and purple on a white background, he made a PDF, a PNG and JPEG and figured whoever would make the actual stuff could take their pick before emailing them to Sébastien.

Done. He was done with something. He’d finally finished something after months of white noise and an inability to focus or create.

Joe looked over his shoulder as he picked up the plates. “You did it!”

“I did it!” He turned the computer to face Joe. “I sent the proposal, any ideas what I can change in the meantime?”

“Looks pretty good to me. Maybe make an option where the shop name is in a plain text circling the logo?”

“Good idea.” Feeling pretty good after that lighthearted car-ride and the completion of his work, he turned his head up and Joe met him in a chaste kiss.

Layla slammed her book shut. “I’m free! Can I go now?”

“Did you pack the stuff you need?”

The tip of her tongue stuck out as she thought. “No.”

“Go do that, and remember at least three pairs of pajamas this time.”

Not needing to be told twice, she skipped off to her room. While Nicky worked on the logo adjustment, Joe had gone to oversee her packing.

“Wanna come walk her to the Barakats’ house?”

Taking the chance to spread his legs, he followed them out. Barely started to head along the sidewalk, Layla came between them and held their hands.

Nicky’s thoughts stalled for an instant, before his heart felt like a blooming flower, taking in the sight of her skipping between them, backpack bouncing with each step, giddy as they held her hands.

It didn’t matter that she was pulling on his left arm, irritating the bruises, he just felt a rush of joy at this little arrangement. It brought back his conversation with Joe, about him never having any children of his own, but in this moment, he let indulgent thoughts entertain what this could be like.

After crossing the street, they swung her up off her feet and onto the bottom step of the house, where she jumped up to ring the doorbell.

A short, hook-nosed woman with skin a shade or two paler than Joe’s greeted them. Her daughter, a little shorter than Layla, with curly dark hair, took her by the hand and they ran in, yelling _goodbye_ over her shoulder.

They walked back faster, bumping shoulders as Joe recounted what happened back at the bakery.

“So, the shortcrust pastry of the tarts was kind off, but it smelled and tasted pretty good so, I thought about what you said decided to try it properly this time. The right measurements and mixing in the sahlab powder and it was great. Next time I might try adding nuts.”

“Better yet, make it with nut flour. You do that, right?”

He went into the house first. “I’ve been meaning to, the gluten-free options and all that.”

The second Nicky crossed the threshold, he was grabbed by his shirt and slammed up against the door, mouth at his throat.

He realized what was going on too late, he’d already frozen up and dropped to the floor, heart between his ears.

“Shit!” Joe knelt by him, worried. “Did I hit your head on the door? Was that too hard?”

He shook his head, trying to get his heart-rate under control. “You just scared me. Thought I was being attacked.”

Joe hunched with embarrassment. “Sorry. I was trying to be spontaneous. The idea seemed sexy in my head.”

“It probably was, but I’m at the point where the sound of the pipes in the wall freaks me out.”

Helping him up, Joe’s hands went to his face, a tender hold. “That didn’t turn you off for the rest of the week, did it?”

“No. Just maybe warn me?”

“No surprises?”

“Not for a while at least.”

Joe gave him that smoldering look, face angled downwards but his eyes looking up at him. “Shame, I wanted to change things up now that we’re alone.”

Heart-rate dipping slightly, its speed and corresponding blood flow switched sources, as he felt it go from his head to the waist-down.

Whatever remaining hesitancy he had, had been buried under his eager arousal.

Out of their coats and shoes, Joe led him back to his room and tried to adjust his first attempt, gently pushing Nicky against the door, mouthing at his neck, hands under his shirt. Nicky could only rest his head back and shiver at the sensations.

Then Joe stepped on his toes, hard.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

“Maybe we should lay down now?”

“Good idea.”

Walking him backwards towards the bed, Joe tried to quickly do away with Nicky’s clothes, only to get his head stuck in the neckline of his sweater.

Nicky figured it was safer to take off his own clothes. “What is going on?”

He ducked his head, grazing his lip. “I may be nervous.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Joe winked at him. “That’s the goal here.”

Safe to say, the hot and desperate mood had been disrupted and they were back to giggling as they were in the car as they released Nicky’s head and he carefully removed Joe’s sweater and top.

Then when they move in to kiss, their heads collided.

“For fuck’s sake!” Joe mirrored Nicky, rubbing at his forehead.

“This is not off to a good start,” Nicky teased. “What is it you’re nervous about?”

“Something I’ve wanted to try for ages, but never thought I’d have the chance to do.” Joe stepped out of his pants and started taking things out of his nightstand. A bottle and a condom. “You up for it tonight?”

In hindsight, this was probably a big part of the ‘moving too fast’ that filled him with suspicion and worry.

But Nicky was too horny to think straight, practically salivating. “Yes.”

Joe leered at him, fingers hooked to beckon him closer. “Come do the honors, because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

The last of Nicky’s reason went out the window as he struggled out the rest of his clothes, unable to contain his excitement.

They went slower than before, trading moans, lips sliding against one another as Nicky’s fingers worked inside him. The noises Joe made, of surprise, pain, and pleasure made Nicky tremble.

“Please,” Joe said breathlessly.

Nicky pulled on Joe’s bottom lip with his teeth. “Please what?”

Joe’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and Nicky couldn’t wait any longer.

To Joe’s surprise, there was an adjustment period and he was uncomfortable until he got used to the sensation.

“Okay, maybe I was too excited about your size, because _ow_.”

“I thought you did this to yourself.”

“With my fingers, not with your big Italian sausage.”

“Please never say that again.”

“But it feels pretty big and you’re—”

“Don’t make me pull out!”

Joe’s amusement rang off the ceiling.

The laughs turned into shocked gasps and moans once Nicky started moving.

It became a blur after that, full of rambling, demands, shouts, gasps and moans as Joe’s legs wrapped around him and he dragged his nails across Nicky’s back or dug them into the flesh of his ass to egg him on.

Not long into starting a rhythm, his arm began to hurt. But he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was keep going, keep pulling those noises from him, watching him lose his mind beneath him, head thrown back, mouth open, eyes closed as he reveled in new sensations.

If only he knew how much of a sucker Nicky was for him, and how he was committing this to memory, to replay on bad days.

Neither of them lasted too long, it was impossible not to follow Joe immediately when he saw him lose himself completely, body bowed, scream filling the room.

Before they could fall asleep like that, they managed to change the sheets, shower, dress and fall back on the bed, in what had become their position, Joe spooning him.

As his eyelids and jaw grew too heavy to move, he set his hand over the one on his stomach and fell asleep with a slight smile on his lips.

The lack of distressing dreams sealed it as a good day, for once. 


	14. Chapter 14

He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a good mood, because for all intents and purposes, yesterday had gone off without an incident. He’d gotten some perspective, some encouragement, they laughed a lot, reveling in an ease that felt older and long-established, and for once, he got to actually sleep with the guy he slept with.

But once awareness gripped him, he realized he was alone.

Out of the bedroom, he followed the sound of hushed, rushed speaking and found Joe in the kitchen, mixing a bowl surrounded by flour, earbuds blinking blue light.

“I know what I said, but I think this time it would be bad idea to stick to my impulses.” His stirring sped up, making the bowl wobble. “I’m at a point in my life where I need to think ahead first so I don’t pile up regrets.”

He paused, listening.

“Of course it’s ‘that serious’, think of my daughter. What affects me affects her and our lives in general!” His voice grew a big angry. “Wait, my mom called you? Oh, she _loves_ you.” He stopped then let out a dismissive _HA!_ “I doubt our hypothetical children would get my hair. No, Lily’s hair is a looser curl pattern. Her mother had wavy hair.”

He stopped, massaging his wrists. “What do you mean how? Both my mom and her mom had brown hair. Quynh, that’s not how genetics work! Tell that to all the fair-skinned, green-eyed Tunisians on my dad’s side of the family.” He laughed softly. “Yes, even redheads. Dad’s cousin Yehia has two sons like that. No, they look different than European gingers, dark eyes, no freckles, beige skin. My mom describes the color as persimmon-y.”

“You don’t know what persimmons are? I thought you were ‘cultured’ and versed in exotic fruits and whatnot,” he teased, almost like he was flirting. “No, absolutely not. Not every fruit belongs in a tart or cake—don’t make me throw up.”

Nicky inched closer, unable to gather what he was hearing. But he knew one thing, Joe was talking to Quynh.

“Your mom wouldn’t mind you marrying out? Really? She said Sébastien looked like a Neanderthal and kept saying pretty gross things about my hair and skin.” He gestured with the whisk, accidentally flinging some batter across the air, following it with a full-body cringe. “You told me yourself when you were drunk off your ass last week.”

His tenacity dimmed. “Yeah, I know. Breakups are tough. You two were together for ages, what happened?” He came back into view with a waffle iron. “Think you need someone in a different career, someone whose home and job is tied to a place, like a shop. Ha, yes, like me.”

Nicky didn’t like where this was going.

He started pouring the batter into the waffle-iron, placing blueberries in their midst. “Actually, you just missed the train. Sébastien is dating the daughter of our pastry chef. I know, right? Not everyday you find someone in their twenties who’ll take you and your kid into their life.”

Except Nicky wanted that. This past week had gotten him quickly used to the routine, the dynamic, the presence, the feeling of a lived-in space with its habits, timing and rotating conversations. It wasn’t awkward and distant like it was with his father, stepmother and half-siblings, or full of conflict and judgment like family gatherings, or even separate and impersonal like work had been.

If he had woken up with no memory, he’d assume that his life had been this. That he had been having daily-dealings with Nile, Sébastien, Caterina and Joe and Layla.

The slamming of the cupboards pulled him back into the moment. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. We need to think of what we can or should handle, and I thought I could. That this would be a good idea, but now, after mulling it over and having some sense smacked into me by Sébastien, I realized I can’t do this.” He sighed. “Someone else would love to, I’m sure. But I’ve had enough stress the past couple of years and need to properly settle down now, with someone who can give me that.”

There it was.

_You’re both a little deranged if you think this will work._

Nicky was not stable. As much as he’d like to deny that fact, his grandma and Nile were right. If an unpleasant conversation with his father made him break with the present, what would having all he’d experienced this week removed do to him?

“I miss you too. I saw you two days ago, but I miss you. We were apart for so long,” Joe sighed. “Can’t wait til I’m done this mess. Just til the end of the week and I can go back to normal.”

Just what he’d thought.

They should have just stayed friends. That way Nicky would have gotten to keep him and Layla in his life at an arm’s length, but Nicky had to be an idiot and cave into his desires. If he had wanted him before, now that he’d known what being in his arms was like, he ached for him.

Joe ended the call, and he heard him heading down the hall so he ran back into the room and pretended to have just woken up.

The welcoming smile he gave Nicky showed no hints of what he’d just heard, like he was happy to see him. “Hey, sleep good?”

He avoided his eyes. “Like a rock.”

A hand stroked his hair, then pulled him closed, until they were nose-to-nose. “Me too, you really wore me out.”

This would be the part where he’d make a joke, but he was blanking on anything but envisioning his last bad dream, of Joe walking off with Layla and Quynh. Talking as they had just now, about what their children would look like, what their mothers thought, her needing someone like him after her breakup…

So, what was the point of all this then? If Joe was not in a phase of some sort like Jessie had said, then he was fully aware of his actions, and Sébastien said he was impulsive. Joe himself had said this was something he always wanted to try but didn’t get the chance, due to his family and his current life.

Was this just a chance for him to ‘live a little’ before he ‘settled down’ with a ‘stable’ woman? Gave Layla a mother, as his mother said.

“How’re you feeling about it?” was what he went with, to gauge what was among the piling regrets he’d mentioned to Quynh.

“A little sore, but good.” He kissed Nicky, slow and sweet, practically muting the anguished buzz in his head. “Can’t wait til we try other stuff.”

“You’ve got a list?” it came out a little less bitter than he felt. “Think we can get through it all until Sunday night?”

If he did sound as cranky as he felt, Joe didn’t notice. “Why, do we have a deadline?”

“That’s up to you.”

He gave him a weird look. “You know you have a say in this, right? Don’t sit back and let me make you do stuff you don’t want.”

“I think I don’t want to make any decisions now. I get so stressed I can’t function.”

“I know what you mean.” Hand on his waist, he led Nicky out. “All the stuff about opening another shop or two, the menu, the marketing we’ll do now that we have some branding, who will manage the other branches. It’s been making my ability to focus so much worse.”

Making him more impulsive.

“This is why I didn’t want to do what my dad and Adam did. Doing this all the time would have had me crying on the floor every night.”

“Tell me about it. My dad now works in a bank and even with all the information literally at your fingertips, I still wouldn’t have been able to juggle all those details. Or numbers.”

“What did he do before?”

“Sold cars. The bank thing is recent, my stepmother pushed him into it because they have two young kids and expenses keep going up.”

“This right here is why Sébastien and I are finally getting around to the whole business-thing. Kids are getting older,” He gave him a look. “And we both want more before we get too old to chase them around.”

Nicky bit back a snarky retort. He wasn’t sure whether it would have been a jab about Sébastien’s age or Joe fooling around with a man.

In the kitchen, he took his painkillers and washed the things Joe used to make breakfast and put them away without thinking. He’d become more familiar with this place than his father’s house.

That thought weighed on him as they settled in the breakfast nook.

Joe rambled, almost hyper, zipping from topic to topic and gesturing animatedly about how yesterday’s accident with the sahlab mix was inspiring him to actually start creating mixtures of recipes.

“We keep saying we’re a fusion bakery, but I’ve never actually done that? We just make both French pâtisserie and Middle Eastern sweets.” He babbled, chocolate sauce from his last bite of waffle smeared around his lips, eyes shining. “I want to start combining stuff! Maybe actually go research from around the region I didn’t know much about, like Persian sweets? I could put more than rosewater in the syrups, put actual roses in.”

“You don’t mind eating rose petals but you draw the line at pineapples in cakes?”

He popped the last of his waffle in his mouth. “That’s different and you know it!”

“I wouldn’t know, have never eaten flowers.”

“It can’t just be any flower. Lots of roses have no scents today, it’s awful. You know I’ve never actually met a rose with a scent? I keep hearing about how beautiful a rose’s smell is and all and I knew what it smells like from my mom’s perfumes, and a shampoo I bought Lily. Good thing my mom named Jessie after jasmines, because I know what those smell like.”

One would think Joe had eaten an entire pound of sugar at the rate he was expressing himself.

“People used to eat flowers in salads, I know that much. And make tea with them.”

“Yeah, like the lavender and chamomile you tried.”

Nicky frowned. “Chamomile?”

“It’s a daisy-like flower.”

He thought those things Joe strained were funny-looking herbs. Guess he was an idiot on all-accounts. “It is? That’s adorable. What other flowers have you eaten?”

“Cauliflowers—”

“Cauliflowers are a vegetable—no, wait. Forget I spoke. It’s right there in the name.” He smacked his forehead. “In Italian it literally means _cabbage-flower_.”

“Same thing in French! _Choufleur_.” Joe didn’t exactly laugh, but the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave him that sunny grin, shoulders and chest shaking. “But yeah, the heads of the cauliflower are called florets. Small flowers.”

Nicky put his head between his heads. “Anything that doesn’t have common sense I can embarrass myself over?”

Joe tapped his nose. “Hey, stuff goes over people’s heads all the time. Growing up, I ate a lot of fried squid and didn’t even think to ask what it was until I was twelve, and Adam told me they were the octopus’ cousin. Then I stopped eating them for a while because it freaked me out.”

Okay, that made him feel better.

“Only thing coming to mind right now is this Vietnamese salad Quynh had me try that was basically just flowers.”

If Nicky were a cat he’d hiss.

Pathetic, that’s what he was. Jealous of someone he’d never seen, who’d been in Joe’s life long enough for him to miss her and have stories about her being drunk.

“Okay then, what other flowers have you drunk?”

“Hibiscus and dandelion.”

“Aren’t those weeds?”

“Nope, that’s slander. Dandelions are flowers.” Joe shook his head, curls that hadn’t properly dried before they went to sleep falling into his eyes, more in the texture of large bumps than individual curls. Nicky thoughtlessly pushed them up, stroking his hair.

Joe pressed his face into Nicky’s hand, making his heart expand.

It was hard to stay mad at him when he radiated such an infectious positivity. Must have been why it really threw Nicky off when Joe got upset and started exhibiting anxious behavior that was different than his own.

If this was going to be the mess Joe was free of by the end of this week, as he told Quynh, then Nicky was going to try and enjoy the last of it.

On their way to work, they stopped by the Barakat house to check on Layla, who was still asleep after a night of playing games with Eliana.

This time, Nicky brought the tablet and stylus and huddled in his spot the window, fleshing out ideas as he fished for inspiration from the people around him. Profiles and features and the impressions that churned inspiration in his mind.

He did his best to be preoccupied with this than anything else. Later, he fixated on general design, choosing the indulgent fantasy staples of landscapes, weapons and sigils, and lifting some sections of mythology wholesale. Primarily Greek and Egyptian.

At noon, Patricia took her break and Lykon swapped spots with Jessie, and Joe emerged and led Nicky to the kitchen.

“But my stuff!”

“No one’s going to steal yourself, I promise.”

“You sure?”

“If anything disappears I’ll buy you a newer model,” he promised, taking him to the main work-table, covered in flour with a pile of dough in the center.

“What’re you making?”

“Trying to make _sahlab ghoreiba_.” Joe took out a jar of peeled pistachios. “And I’ll top them with this, like how some countries add them instead of hazelnuts on top. Jury’s still out on the coconut shavings for now.”

“That’s going to be starchy as hell.”

“That’s the idea, it’ll feel pretty decadent so people will love to indulge in it like they do fudge.”

Nicky peered down at the pale dough. “No raisins?”

“No space for them in a shortbread biscuit, and the idea is for them to melt in your mouth. Raisins disrupt that, hence why they’re usually in oatmeal cookies.”

“Never liked those.”

“Me neither. Aesthetically, they’re hideous.”

That pulled a surprised giggle out of him. “Aesthetics in cookies now?”

“You eat with your eyes first, don’t you?” Joe started pulling the dough apart and rolling it into little balls. “That’s why people buy those godawful fondant cakes and sugar cookies.”

The mention made him pretend to cough up a hairball. “Sugar cookies are nauseating, my half-brother loves that crap. But he also loves Oreos, so I can’t trust his judgment.”

Joe agreed. “Right? Did you know there was a study that said Oreos were more addictive than coke?”

“Which coke we talking here? The kind you guzzle or the kind you snort?”

“Snort.”

“Yikes. Think it’s too late to tell Teresa to ban them from the house?”

“Probably not.” Joe jerked his head back at the door. “Lykon told me there’s an Oreo burger now.”

“He told me people deep-fry Mars Bars. That’s a heart-attack waiting to happen.”

“If you let him, he’ll roll out the carpet for a history of fucked up foods. Told me all about how people put everything in Jell-O a couple of decades ago, most of the stuff he listed made me never want to see anything that jiggles ever again.”

“My grandma still does that, puts fruit salads in pineapple jelly.” Nicky jerked his wrist back and forth. “Didn’t like eating it as much as I did smacking it with a spoon.”

“Hypnotic, isn’t it?” Joe set some of the balls on a baking tray’s sheet, then moved on to the next amount. “Technically these are in the sugar cookie territory, but they’re different.”

“These going in the gluten-free menu?”

Joe hummed. “You were listening?”

“I listen to everything you say.”

Joe looked up at him through his eyelashes. “That doesn’t sound possible, and it’s okay if you tune me out. I talk a lot and jump from topic to topic faster than a rubber ball.”

“It’s all still interesting. All your random facts and tangents, you’re very knowledgeable.”

Joe huffed dismissively. “I’m full of useless trivia. My dad’s the knowledgeable one. Wait till he tells you about the floating gardens of Mexico or plumbing in the Roman Empire or something.”

Nicky picked up some of the dough and started rolling it into gumball-sized balls, a small effort that didn’t irritate his arm that much. Joe caught on and beamed at him, dimples now shadowed by stubble.

If only he could keep having that smile aimed at him. Joe’s face alone could convince him to commit atrocities.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just really love your smile,” he admitted stupidly.

At this point, why not be honest?

Joe gasped softly, covering his mouth. “Seriously?”

Nicky had to shove him, to channel some annoyance to ground him to reality. “You know you’re handsome, jackass.”

“I know I’m not ugly, but I’m not James Marsden.”

“He looks like a Ken Doll, intimidatingly handsome. So unattainable it turns you off.”

Joe was pleased with that response, appearing almost bashful. “Who do you think is handsome then?”

Nicky blinked, startled. “Right now, I’m blanking.”

Taking a break from rolling the dough, Joe set his hands on the table to lean forward, smirking at him. “Who was your first crush then?”

“Think it was Dimitri from _Anastasia_. Or Cornelius from _Thumbelina_.”

“They look identical.”

“Don Bluth knew how to draw _one_ man.”

That made Joe crack up. “I was thinking that that was your type, but that makes more sense.”

“Who was yours?”

Joe pursed his lips, moving them from side to side as he thought. “It may have been Esmeralda from the _Hunchback of Notre Dame_. My last ex kinda resembled her.”

The warmth he’d started to regain dissipated. “Makes me wonder why you’re bothering with me.”

His face fell. “We talked about this.”

The bitterness from this morning’s conclusion reemerged. “Not really. I’m having a hard time believing you find me attractive.”

“Well, same here. But I figured you liked my personality the most.”

That was the problem. Why he couldn’t dismiss him as yet another asshole he’d gotten involved with. He really, truly liked Joe as a person.

“I do.” He set the last ball that completed the tray. “You’re still hot though. We’re mismatched in that area.”

Joe returned to work with a shake of his head. “We need to work on your self-esteem.”

“How you’re you gonna that?”

Gently, he pressed his thumb down on each ball, flattening it. “Grow your hair out and we’ll get you a better style that’ll suit you more. Maybe check your diet, have you eating more balanced meals, take your supplements, and try to get you to sleep better. All of that makes a huge difference in what you see in the mirror.”

“Still haven’t shown me old pictures of you.”

Joe winked at him. “When we get home I’ll bare my old shame.”

Nicky opened the jar and started placing the pistachios in the center of the biscuits, making Joe aim yet another joint-melting smile at him.

“You want me with longer hair?”

“Think it’d suit you.” Then he winked. “Also, I’d like something to pull on.”

In that instant, his mind went blank, only reverting with a confused response. “You’d have to wait until it grows that long.”

“Think it’ll be at your shoulders by May?”

“Probably.” Confusion was rising back like bile, singing his insides. “Why’d you bring me back here?”

Joe took out another bake sheet-covered tray and started arranging the dough balls. “Because you inspired this idea and I’m nervous about how it’ll turnout, so you’re here to keep me calm while Trish rests her feet.”

“When are you going to start adding flowers?”

“When I get a shipment of them and try the recipes at home?” he said uncertainly. “Oh, I just remembered. People eat water-lilies.”

“Like the lotus-eaters in Homer’s _Odyssey_?”

“You know, I never made that connection, but I’m glad you did.” Joe paused, eyes rolling up in thought. “I think the island of the lotus-eaters was in Tunisia.”

“You serious?”

“Yeah, Djerba, I think it’s called.” Joe went back to flattening to the dough. “What part of Italy do you think Odysseus visited?”

“Probably a bunch. Only one coming to mind is that the wind god Aeolus was in Sicily.”

“How’d you figure?”

“It’s literally surrounded by the Aeolian Islands.”

Joe bit his lip. “I walked into that one.”

Nicky finished placing pistachios on the first tray before moving on the next. “Back to the water-lilies. You said that a word can have a dozen synonyms, is that you got Lily from Layla? Is that the Arabic word for _lily_?”

“The Arabic word for lily is _lily_ ,” Joe said. “Well, if we’re being formal here then it’d be _zonboq_ , which is pretty archaic. But I call her that because—” he dragged his finger through the flour on the table drawing two vertical lines linked by a horizontal line that ended in a duck-like outline: **ليلي**

“In Arabic, Layla and Lily are spelled the same way. It’s a two-for basically, since both my mom, sister and grandma have flower-names, but I also wanted to keep the night-element.”

He couldn’t help the admiration that filled him. “You thought a lot about this.”

“I think a lot about everything.”

“So do I, but it’s unproductive thinking. I wish I could stop, it’s crippling me.”

Joe made a sympathetic noise. “It’s why I prefer being a ‘first thought, best thought’ kind of person.” He moved onto the last section of the dough, exhaling through his nose. “If I think too much about something, I’ll waste time. The opportunity may have already passed me by then.”

Nicky replayed bits of the conversation he'd eavesdropped on in his mind. “But you don’t want to keep doing that?”

“Eh, depends on the situation. Sometimes I can get really ahead of myself and end up bound to a bad idea.”

Bad idea.

Despite being upset by it, he nudged the topic. “Like?”

Joe dismissed the idea with a smacking gesture. “Don’t want to dwell on that stuff. I only want to remember the good results.”

“Good philosophy.”

Something he’d need to start doing after he goes home.

Nicky placed the last of the pistachios on the biscuits and Joe carried them off to the oven.

They headed back out to find Sébastien had arrived and was talking to a man in a midnight-blue suit. He appeared either the same age as or older than Sébastien, with brown skin, a round face, short hair, and sad, heavy-lidded eyes. When Nicky got closer, he heard him speak softly with a British accent.

Joe immediately rushed around to embrace him. “Copley, where’ve you been?”

Copley awkwardly returned Joe’s hug. “Finishing up the full set-up of my new office. I even got the nameplate on my door and an assistant and everything.”

“You get any submissions yet?”

“A few, I was just telling Sébastien about them. Some basic picture-books, and I had to reject some that didn’t meet the guidelines of my imprint.”

“All of them?” Joe gasped.

Copley retreated from the hug, taking out his phone. “No, the ones I felt had potential I forwarded to another line. Here’s the best purchase so far.”

Joe made a partly impressed face at the screen. “The art-style is…”

“Juvenile?” Copley offered. “The watercolors-outside-the-outline thing seems trendy. I don’t like it myself, but the goal with having this imprint is to, well, represent diverse interests and subjects.”

“Not for me then.” Joe reached behind him, catching Nicky and pulling him forward. “But I’ve got a submission for you right here.”

Nicky found himself facing Copley, whose brows were slightly raised. “Hi?”

“Hello, you must be the designer Sébastien was telling me about.” He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

He shook Copley’s hand then looked to Joe for an explanation.

“This is James Copley, from our single-dad group. I told you about him, right?”

“Oh! Yeah, you did.” He faced Copley again, properly placing him in his mind’s personal connections-folder. “Pleased to meet you too.”

Joe’s excitement filled the space around them, his hands on Nicky’s shoulders, practically shaking him. “Nicky’s working on an illustrated children’s series, it’s based on cultures you don’t tend to see fantasy, like Ancient Rome and North Africa during the Golden Age. Well, we call it a Science Fantasy since it has a lot do with space. The main character is a girl resembling Layla, with a single-father.”

Copley’s bored eyes came to life at that. “That’s one interesting concept. Does it have a title?”

“Uh, currently it’s _Stargazer Lily_. The title itself is one the main character earns, or is like a superhero alter-ego, like all those Magical Girl shows.”

Copley nodded. “Like _Sailor Moon_?”

“Exactly that,” Joe said.

“How come you’re doing the pitching?” Copley asked. “You two collaborating on this?”

“Not exactly, I’m just really invested in the project because I want Layla to see us in what she reads.”

“And Joe uses his words better than I can,” Nicky added.

“Fair enough. I’d love to see your work. Maybe send me a proper pitch, a summary of the story, the concept, at least about the first arc if this is a series and some images from the comic itself.” Copley took out a card and handed it to Nicky. “I’ll be expecting you.”

Caught between shock and awe, he felt his jaw drop as he processed the opportunity. He took the card and held it to his chest. “Thank you,” he stuttered. “Thank you so much for this chance, I hope you like what you see.”

“I’m sure I will. I liked what you did for the shop, very precise and memorable.”

Sébastien rejoined them, handing a box to Copley. “Soon, these will have the logo on the front.”

Copley stuck it in a cloth bag. “Are you going to close the shop while you update the front?”

“No, adding the sign shouldn’t take too long. But we might have a party once it goes up and the new shop opens.”

“How’s that going?”

Joe dusted his hands. “Almost done! The place is more or less ready to start functioning, we just need the paperwork over and done with before we register the address as a second location, put up the sign and finish up the insides. Then we can advertise it as open for business.”

“Great, it feels like you guys have been toiling in this for ages.” Copley pulled up the collar of his coat and headed out. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Sébastien waved back and Joe said, “Say hi to Izzy and Gwen for us!”

“Will do! Same goes for Lily and the boys!”

Copley left and Joe rounded on Nicky, shaking him excitedly. “He’s definitely going to buy your book.”

“Don’t be sure, he could think it’s shit.”

“He wasn’t humoring you when he agreed,” Sébastien said. “Before he was given the go-ahead to start this imprint he was one of those editors that rejected most submissions or sent back scathing rejection letters.”

“He’s your friend though.”

“That means nothing in business where the bottom-line is everything,” Joe said, jabbing his thumb at Sébastien. “Think he would have started a business with me if my bakes were like bricks?”

“Absolutely not, I’d have told you to give up. Given you a reality check that’d make you cry.”

_You’re both a little deranged if you think this will work out._

“I’m sure you would have,” Nicky said, clinging to the potential the card in his hands contained.

The work-day ended shorter than usual and Joe and Nicky returned back home—to Joe’s house. Nicky was toying with the idea of thanking Joe for his help then civilly declaring this wouldn’t work out to give the impression that it was his idea.

Then Joe’s phone rang. It was obviously Quynh.

“I have to go,” he said, putting his coat back on. “She’s been day-drinking. I need to drive her home before she totals her car or something.”

Nicky watched him go without a word, wondering if there was any semblance of truth to that story.

That left him to get sucked into a whirlpool of distressed thoughts he had to keep talking himself out of.

One side of him said this was to be expected and the other said that he was imagining the bad outcome.

They had an easy rapport. Their conversations were never dull, always flowing despite the rotating topics, they agreed on most things they discussed, exchanged knowledge and ideas openly, with no conflict or slights.

And there was the sex, which, despite Joe’s inexperience, was enthusiastic and sensual, it had something that was missing in all his previous partners. It wasn’t something he could forget by sleeping with someone else or even several people in a row.

Most of all, he made Nicky smile when it was so hard to muster one positive feeling most days.

It couldn’t have been easy to fake any of this. Nicky had seen plenty of people feign being friendly or engaged with people they either didn’t care for or despised and all that he got from Joe was genuine.

They had a connection. Either Nicky was making that feeling up or it was there and about to be wasted.

Sitting on the couch, staring at the TV and not retaining anything he watched, he measured the conflicting events. Joe talking to him about things that would need for them to remain in each other’s lives to occur and Nicky overhearing what contradicted these feelings, backed up by Joe admittedly having a tendency to not overthink his actions.

Earlier this week, he’d said he wanted Nicky and had since they’d been properly reintroduced. But he also wanted someone stable to raise Layla with.

Should he confront him about this, or was it a lost cause?

At some point, Joe returned, winded, face flushed, hair messy. “Sorry I took so long, needed to make sure she got sober before I put her to bed.”

The alarms in Nicky’s head blared, picking out the dreaded implication.

Joe headed into the kitchen, turning the lights on. “What should we have for dinner?”

Nicky followed, keeping enough of a distance to watch him. “Whatever’s easiest to make.”

He shut the fridge. “That would be ordering pizza.”

“Do that then.”

“Any preferences?”

“No pineapples or green bell peppers. No four-cheese.”

Joe wrinkled his face cutely. “Four-cheese is pretty heavy and can get gross.”

“Tell me about it, my grandma thinks it’s a crime against nature, along with a bunch of other toppings.”

“Yeah, I heard authentic pizza doesn’t have cheese on it.”

“It does, just not that much. Not like it is here. The crust is different too.”

Joe seemed intrigued by that concept. “I’d love to hear your grandma’s take on deep-dish pizza when I meet her.”

That was another in the _Joe Wanted to Date Me_ basket that was always in the threat of being outweighed by the discouraging events.

Joe motioned for him to follow as he put in the call. All the way back to his office area he settled his order while Nicky wiped his slippery palms on his shirt.

When he ended the call, he brought an album out of his desk drawer and handed it to Nicky.

“What’s this?”

“Blackmail material.”

A little weirded out, Nicky flipped through it and was first greeted with baby pictures, of who were clearly Adam and then Joe, including some other children that must have been cousins or the sons of friends. There were some of him in what looked to be both Tigger and Bugs Bunny costumes, whiskers drawn on his face.

Until the age of perhaps twelve his hair was short, only the bumps in the texture along his head giving a hint that they contained curls. Then the teenage years unfolded with him having unkempt frizzy hair, a shiny, acne-ridden face, plenty that looked like red sores, and a mouth whose pout was amplified by the swelling of braces that showed in few pictures. There some pictures in the midst of himself and various family members, plenty were in foreign spaces, what Nicky recognized as London, Paris, possibly somewhere in Greece, and several spots in both Egypt and Tunisia.

He remained in that general state, even growing hunched-over and a little pudgy until he reached college-age. Leaner, his head buzzed, barely smiling, he still stood awkwardly off to the side in group photos and by himself against notable backgrounds like gardens, buildings and lakes or seas. One even had him making a distressed face at the camera, like he’d been caught on film against his will.

Then there was one at Disneyland with him carrying Jessie on his shoulders, holding each other’s hands and wearing matching mouse ears while Adam and what must have been Lara bordered them, raising two fingers behind each one’s head to give them accompanying bunny-ears.

Another in that transitory awkward phase was of him grimacing at the camera, surrounded by boys that had to be his cousins, all in varying formal wear, behind them a series of round tables and round-backed chairs. A wedding reception.

Nicky soon realized that grimace was an attempt at a grin. He hadn’t always had that smile.

Another was of him with those same cousins outside during the day in casual wear, Joe now stood the tallest among them but remained hunching, looking deeply uncomfortable, raising two fingers in a half-hearted peace sign while a bearded cousin laughed, mouth wide open, right by him.

“Is that a Fall Out Boy shirt?” Nicky asked him.

“Just so you know, I’m way past being shamed for my taste in music.” Joe leaned back against the desk, arms crossed confidently. “I love a lot of their music, I even listened to a lot of adjacent bands, though plenty haven’t aged as well.”

God, did he have to be so endearing? “Last person to judge, I was really into My Chemical Romance.”

Joe’s brows raised in intrigue. “There’s not nearly enough room to shame you for that, they’re the greatest rock band to come out of the Two-Thousands.”

“Tell that to all the people that made fun of me for listening to them. They, like Elvis and the Beatles, are only respected in hindsight when it became cool for straight men to like them.”

“Think my mom once compared Jessie’s obsession with One Direction to what her mom’s generation thought of the Beatles. That they were shitty music made for dumb girls until guys got into them.”

“Ironically, now music nerds act like they’re the benchmark of ‘real music’. Had guys with me over there that were like that.” Nicky put on a nasally, obnoxious voice. “‘Taylor Swift only writes break-up songs, she shouldn’t get awards for that. Whatever happened to celebrating real music that means something like the best band of all time, the Beatles’.”

“Ah, yes, ‘music that means something’, like the lyrics they purposefully made nonsensical because they heard English teachers were making kids dissect them during class.”

“Full of such philosophical gems as _‘I am the egg-man, they are the egg-men, I am the walrus, goo-goo-goo-joo!’_.”

Joe pretended to wipe his eyes. “So moving. When will Taylor Swift write something as ground-breaking as _Octopus’s Garden_? Or lyrics as profound as _’She was just seventeen, you know what I mean’_.”

“It got worse than that sometimes, people glorifying music they didn’t get. Like at all.”

“I sense there’s a fun story behind that.”

“Once told a guy that was up Queen’s ass that Freddie Mercury picked that name because he was into men. Another time I needed to point out that all the ‘real men’ boomer cock-rock bands started out in heels, shiny costumes, makeup and put more effort into their hairstyles than all our sisters combined.” Nicky shrugged. “Somehow that always goes over these guys’ heads when they made gross gay and girl jokes about Justin Bieber and One Direction.”

“Interesting how people shape reality like that, only absorbing what they expect to see,” Joe said. “Also, I’m pretty sure half those guys in rock bands fucked other men, so there goes that ladykiller fantasy.”

“Some of them were straight-up with men like Elton John, Mercury and the singer of Judas Priest.”

“Bet a lot of asshole metalheads loved that last one.” Joe reached down into the bookcase by them and retrieved a little statue of a man. “Got this when I was twelve in London.”

“Is that Freddie Mercury?”

“Yeah, we saw the Queen jukebox musical. Didn’t care much for them at the time, but my brother and parents were fans. After we got back, my mom properly introduced me to them by showing me the video of _I Want To Break Free_ and I was a goner.”

Something didn’t add up. “Your _mother_ showed the one of them in drag?”

“Said it was the first introduction to them she saw on TV when she was visiting London on a school trip. The whole housewife-with-a-mustache combo cracked her up and stuck in her head.”

“Didn’t think she’d be the type to approve of that.”

“Eh, I think her job has made her bitter and cynical. And there’s the fact that she wasn’t an adult at the time, with all these priorities and expectations she had for her kids.” He thumbed the statue of Freddie. “Then what happened to Adam and Lara just…it changes you. I know it changed me.”

“Before, when I had that ‘incident’, you told me you knew what it was like, and then you kept dodging answers about personal stuff. Was it about Adam and his wife?”

He nodded, setting aside the statuette. “I don’t like to talk about it because I feel it makes me sound self-centered.”

“How?”

“Me whining, about how my brother and sister-in-law who were robbed of long lives together in a horrific accident, is not a good look. I didn’t experience anything myself, I didn’t even see it happen.” He sniffled suddenly. “What excuse do I have to turn into a mess when I think about them?”

“Because they were your family and they died in the worst way, in their youth, while on vacation, and far away from you. If you weren’t this upset I’d say you were evil.” Nicky touched his chin, getting Joe to look him in the eye. “Or, as your mom would say, _bloodless_.”

“I keep telling myself that, but then my anxiety got so much worse than it already was and I have these mood swings and I get really miserable and all I can think about is that I don’t have the right to be this upset.” His lower lip trembled. “Nothing bad ever really happened to me, not like you or Nile or Lykon or even Sébastien. My parents are wealthy, still married and very open-minded compared to most of their generation back home, I was always provided for, I went to good schools, I have a business with my best friend, a happy, healthy child. What excuse do I have?”

“I want to tell you you’re being stupid discrediting your feelings, but I feel like that to.” Nicky held his arm, the old internal pains rising, the ghosts of broken bones healed for months aching. “Did you know the three other guys with me in the car died?”

Joe sat further up, eyes wide. “No. I’m so sorry.”

Nicky shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. “Report said two died on impact, broken necks and stuff. One got a lethal amount of shrapnel in his neck, bled out quick, and I just got sorta crushed, but I’m home, I’m up and around and walking, I have all my senses and all my limbs, and yet I’m a mess.” He pointed to the side. “Nile got her throat slit, yet I’m the one shaking like a Chihuahua and unable to handle stress to the extent I avoid my father. What kind of bullshit am I on?”

“Nile wasn’t always like that. She’s had a rough time of it too, but she’s been back longer and she had the support of her family, which I don’t feel you did until recently.” Joe reached out, taking the album from him. “If you ask her mother, she’ll tell you some heart-wrenching stories, but she’s getting better. It’s a process.”

“Take your own advice then,” Nicky told him. “We both have a right to be upset, it’s not a contest.”

“I know, but it’s different. Mine wasn’t direct. I just got the news and had a breakdown, dropped out of school and started having anxiety attacks. I still feel like I’m over-reacting.”

Nicky knew this would spark another moment of grief and acted quick, tilting Joe’s face up by his chin and kissing him. “You’re not. You’re grieving, as you should.”

“It’s been close to ten years. How long am I going to keep crying at the thought of it?”

“It’s been decades since my grandfather died and my grandma still wears his ring, and gets worked up when she tells us stories about him. I don’t think grieving is temporary, it just gets less severe.”

“When you say such sweet things like that, I hope you say them to yourself.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really like myself enough for that.”

“You should, you’re a very lovable guy,” he said between kisses.

Defiant yet conflicted, Nicky ordered, “Prove it.”

Joe pressed in, deepening the kiss until he stood to steady Nicky, one hand on his waist and the other holding his head. Nicky allowed himself to surrender to his feel, he needed to enjoy this while it lasted because even if Joe didn’t drop him by tomorrow, he would get sick of him quick.

The doorbell rang, pulling them apart.

“I’ll get it. Meet me on the roof?”

Nicky headed up immediately, settling on his chair, once again revising his view of their relationship.

Could what he overheard be something else? After all, he’d arrived halfway through the conversation. Maybe he should take Nile’s advice and hope it works out for the best, that Joe meant him when he said he wanted stability? He’d left Nicky alone with his daughter with no incidents, proving he was trustworthy and that she liked him enough to fall asleep on him.

It had been one day and he already missed Layla. The house felt too quiet and a little colder without her.

“Look at that!” Joe had arrived while Nicky was in the midst of force-feeding himself positive reinterpretations of events. “It’s so clear tonight.”

And it was, the moon was full and rising, and the stars were out in full-force, barely a wispy cloud in the sky.

He sat by Nicky, placing the pizza box on the table between them and taking out his first slice, mushroom and onion. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Nicky pulled out a pepperoni and sausage slice, it was a half-and-half. Good choice. “The pizza? Depends on how hungry you are.”

Joe had to cover his mouth to keep his bite from falling out, shoulders shaking. “The full moon.”

“Specifically full? What about all the other phases?”

“It’s not the same. Hence why people name their kids either for the moon in general or specifically Full Moon.”

“I’ve only heard of girls called Luna and Selene, but Full Moon?”

“Badr,” Joe said. “Boy’s name, means _full moon_. The original version of Jasmine from Aladdin was called Badroulbadour— _fullest of all full moons_.”

“They must love the moon over there.”

“You have no idea,” Joe said. “We love it so much, the highest compliment you can pay someone is to compare them to it.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. It’s all over poetry.”

“Example?”

He finished his slice and moved onto Nicky’s chair, squeezing himself beside him by laying on his side.

Hand gently brushing Nicky’s face, he said, “Remember _Majnoun Layla_?”

Forgetting everything in the world beyond the face before him and the hand on his, Nicky hazily said, “I remember you getting mad about people thinking that was his name.”

“It’s a bigger offense because he was a great poet, and a line I’ll always remember is _‘Aniri makan al-badr in afal al-badr wah qoumi maqam al-shams ma ista’khar al-fajr’_.” He cupped Nicky’s face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. _“If the moon dies, you should shine in it’s place, and rise instead of the sun should the dawn fail to rise.”_

“That’s beautiful,” he said breathlessly. “Tell me more.”

Joe pulled back, a little thrown off. “You want to hear me quote more of that stuff? Want me to translate it first?”

“No, I want to hear how it was meant to be said then understand what it means.”

Joe’s eyes appeared impossibly dark in his light, but they expressed so much emotion it overwhelmed Nicky. “You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“My ex said it sounded ugly and aggressive.”

Irritation filled him like a swarm of bees. He remembered neighbors telling his grandmother to speak English and that their language sounded aggressive and mean. “Your ex was an asshole who probably thinks French is romantic and fancy when it’s the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Right on the money. Always preferred me to speak French and she didn’t understand a word. I don’t get it, at all,” he said. “Why do they call it the language of romance, when Italian is literally what they speak in Rome?”

“If you ever find out, please tell me.”

Joe kissed him once, lingering to nuzzle him. “This is going to sound really bad, but I’m so glad you got hit by that car.”

“Can’t say I agree now, but maybe when my arm stops hurting.”

“I’ll check up with you then.”

This meant that this was going beyond a week. He had to believe it.

 _“Kheialak fi ‘eini wah ismak fi fami wah zikrak fi qalbi, ela ain aktib?”_ Joe said, tracing his fingertips over Nicky’s mouth. _“Your shadow in my eye, your name in my mouth, your memory in my heart, tell me, where do I have left to write?”_

Nicky shuddered. “God, I wish I had something to say to you but my memory is awful.”

“You don’t have to, this isn’t a game, just me for once freely being unbearable.”

“You’re not, I could listen to you talk for hours.”

“Hope you always feel that way. Hope you’ll allow to talk more about the moon.”

“What about it?”

“You remind me of it, you’re the one bright face in a sea of distant, dim stars, brightening the darkness surrounding us, helping me see. You’ve been the moon of the my nights you’ve spent with me,” he said, words flowing in seamless eloquence. _“Anta amar layali.”_

Despite not understanding, his breath still hitched.

 _“You’re the moon of all my nights,”_ Joe whispered against his lips.

“And you’re the sun that makes days possible out of an endless darkness.”

With a sob of a gasp, Joe pulled him in, desperately kissing the thoughts out of Nicky’s head.

They stargazed until it got too cold, then returned to the bedroom. Just as they started, Joe had flipped them over so he sat on top, hands on Nicky’s chest as he moved his hips, rising and falling with his breaths, feeling everything so openly it doubled Nicky’s own sensations.

All he could do was stare up at him in awe and think of how he was the only one who ever got the chance to see him like this.

If Nicky was the moon, then Joe was the sun.

He could only hope to get the chance to reflect his light.

But just being so close to him, witnessing his radiance with his bare eyes, made him feel like he was being consumed by an immense heat, melting and burning like Icarus’ wings.


	15. Chapter 15

The thing about nightmares was that he couldn’t always remember them or blame them on a certain cause.

He just woke, heart beating upsettingly hard, feeling like his throat was being squeezed. He lied there, trying to remember how to take calming breaths and center himself, feeling unsettled and disturbed.

What was it going to take for him to have a decent night’s sleep if sleeping with Joe in all senses didn’t make that happen?

After figuring lying in the dark wasn’t going to do anything, he got up and out, finding Joe already dressed and talking on the phone again.

“If I do that Sébastien will smack me so hard I’ll fly into orbit. I told you why! Quynh, I’m not doing it, I really, really can’t.” He groaned, head thrown back. “Actually, that’s not saving on money, that’s going to be losing worth in my health and headspace. Who? I don’t know, Patricia? She’s tried making almost everything in the shop so far, we can hire someone to train alongside Lykon, or two.”

Business-talk? So, Nicky could relax then?

Shame his dream-induced panic couldn’t understand that.

As he approached, he noticed Joe had shaved again and was wearing a button-up under a sweater, business-casual. There was a stack of pancakes on a plate in the middle of the island and a side-dish of chicken sausages.

Joe noticed him and waved. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Ending the call, he rushed to hug Nicky, who could only set his hands on him and breathe in his cologne, a woodsy scent.

“Going to work like that?”

“Actually Sébastien and I are going to our support group, meeting starts in half an hour.” He tapped the island. “But breakfast is ready, just heat some up and all the toppings except honey are in the fridge.”

“You didn’t have to do this the second you woke up.”

“No, I want to.” Then he winked. “Also I’m going to be sitting for a while now and needed to avoid doing that for a bit at least.”

Nicky had to cover his mouth as a surprised snort escaped him. “How’re you, uh, feeling.”

“Real sore this time, two days in a row was probably not a good idea.” He held Nicky’s head, nuzzling his nose. “Other than that, feeling pretty great.”

He wished he could say the same and hated that he couldn’t.

“When are you going into work today?”

“We open at ten-thirty and close at three today, but I’m probably going to be done closer to five because Trish takes Sundays off.”

“Do I come with you and wait outside before we head off or…?”

Joe pulled back, making an awkward grin. “Actually I was hoping you could be here in case anything happened with Layla, or I’m even later coming home.”

“Okay. Want me to pick her up from the Barakats?”

That soft look in his eyes threatened to make Nicky’s entire being wobble like jelly. “That’d be great, yeah. I should—oh! I almost forgot.”

He headed out to his office and came back in a rush, holding out a key and a gold chain with a deep-blue amulet set in a gold fastener. It was a perfect circle with a lighter blue dead in its center like a bullseye.

He knew what this was, an evil eye.

Joe set the key in his hand.

Clutching the key, Nicky was in awe. “What’s this for?”

“This is for getting in and out.” He reached behind Nicky’s neck and clasped the necklace shut. “And this for keeping the bad luck, black magic and evil spirits at bay. It should keep an eye on you for me.”

Speechless, he touched the amulet.

His heart had settled to a slow, steady beat as his stiff mouth curved up. “I think it’s working.”

“Good.” Joe pecked him on the lips, before heading back. “I texted Diana your number, she should call you if anything happens and when Lily’s ready to come home. I’m late coming back, the rest of the pizza is in the fridge, heat it up in the oven not the microwave.”

“Anything else?”

“Get to work on your story so I can confidently keep talking you up to Copley today.”

A rush of excitement filled him. Just the motivation he needed to keep working. “Will do. Expect you at five?”

“Yes. See you later.” He blew him a kiss and headed out the door.

Nicky stood there, buzzing with what must have been happiness. It made the unpleasant sleep worth it.

But it was strange, being in the house alone. It threatened to unleash the storm of negativity he was clamping down on. Every time a thought tried to overpower his mood, he’d touch the amulet and focus on what it meant, that it was a gift from Joe, to protect him from these feelings.

If Joe kept it up, Nicky was going to fall tragically in love with him.

That thought prompted him to do a cursory search on the poet Qays, the madman in _Majnoun Layla_ , and all the poetry he wrote for her. Some of which Joe had quoted for him.

It tempted him to make his own self-insert character end up with Mounir, Zahra’s father. He wondered how that would fly with Copley and if he should include it in the proposal he was going to submit.

Clinging to that thought, he checked Copley’s card to solidify the idea that he had a good chance of getting his work out there, read by many.

**_James Copley_ **

_Senior Editor_

_7102 Oldgarden Rd._

_Jmcopley@arcancielink.com_

Toying with the amulet, he got to work, playing selections of the music he and Joe chatted about yesterday. A good chunk of it was Taylor Swift and My Chemical Romance, which threw him back to middle school.

 _Eternal Flame_ by the Bangles made it into his work-playlist.

By the time he’d drafted his summary for the first story arc, made a list of characters with descriptions, names and roles, and minor antagonists before finalizing a main villain being the personification of a black hole named _Buconero_. He may have Google’d Keane’s boss to base the villain’s design on him, and Keane got to be his henchman, Stronzo. Which was surprisingly cathartic.

Shamelessly basing characters on his sister and grandmother, who he made the heir and queen of the Lunar Empire respectively, he made ones for Nile, her mother and Lykon as well, having them be diplomats in the Sun Kingdom, while Sébastien and his nephews were part of the courtiers accompanying his character.

Joe had said most children’s stories didn’t show enough of the people unseen by the mainstream, and that included most of the people around him.

It all came together and soon, he’d found it was almost three o’clock. Joe was still not back. At almost three exactly, he got a text from Eliana’s mother, Diana, and headed over to their house.

Layla nearly tackled him with her greeting hug. “Nicky!”

Kneeling, he embraced her tightly, she smelled like chocolate milk and softener, they must had an incident that warranted washing her clothes. “Ready to go home?”

She leaped up and retrieved her backpack from by Diana’s feet. Nicky took it before she could put it on, offering her his left hand. “Has she been good this weekend? Not too much trouble I hope.”

“As good as a pair of seven year-olds can get,” said Diana, extending her hand. “Don’t think we officially met, I’m Eliana’s mom, and you must be Joe’s…” she trailed off, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

What was he? What did he call himself? They hadn’t really agreed on anything.

And Joe didn’t tell him if he wanted to tell others apart from his inner circle yet.

“Friend,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Will we be seeing you around a lot?”

“Hope so,” he said, a hint of nervousness rising.

“Come on!” Layla bounced by him. “Parents always talk at the door for ages, and I need to shower!”

Parents. Was that how she perceived him already?

The idea was terribly tempting.

“That’s our cue to leave then.” He waved the hand holding her backpack and they headed back towards the house.

“So, what did you do?” he asked her.

“Played video games, watched _Elena of Avalor_ in English this time, and a lot of old cartoons Ellie’s mom put on for us.”

“Like what?”

She bounced. _“Powerpuff Girls!”_

“Wow, that’s considered old now. Which was your favorite, mine was Buttercup.”

“Blossom, because she’s smart, has ice-breath and a cape.”

Adorable. Simply adorable.

Figuring out which way the key went in the door, he tried to keep the amused giggling to a minimum. “The ‘cape’ is her hair.”

Layla aimed large eyes up at him as she hustled in. “It is? I thought it was like Superman’s cape!”

“Nope, just red hair. Do you want a cape?”

She nodded so enthusiastically he feared she was going to get dizzy.

“What color?”

Layla gestured excitedly, hands turning up them down to show and hide her palms. “One those, like, double-sided ones, that’s like white on the outside and blue or purple inside?”

“Done.”

She squealed hopping up til she hugged his leg. He set his arm around her and squeezed her in a side-hug, bubbling with overflowing love for her.

Giddy, she skipped all the way to her room as Nicky followed, setting her bag on her bed. She took out her things, put them away neatly to his surprise, and readied what she’d need after her shower before heading off.

Resuming work, Nicky soon heard her loudly entering the room humming what had to be the theme-song of the _Miraculous Ladybug_ show.

She raised a white, glittery brush to his face, alongside a bottle. “Can you brush my hair?”

“Now? It’s still wet.”

“That’s the best time to brush it, silly. If it dries it tangles.”

“And if you brush it after it dries?”

“It gets torn up! And breaks!” she said loudly, appalled by the idea. “And frizzes!”

“Okay, now I get why your dad didn’t like it when your nana told him to brush his hair.”

She nodded, tapping the brush in her hand. “You don’t brush curly hair after it dries! Ever!”

Chuckling fondly, he took the brush. “Yes, You Highness. What’s the bottle?”

“Rub it all throughout my hair! There are parts I always miss. It helps with the frizz and makes it shiny.”

“I see.” He got to rubbing a small amount first, trying to spread it evenly through the damp hair. “Anything else?”

“After you brush, spread it out so it curls separately instead of clumps!”

This all sounded like something either Joe or Jessie had had her memorize.

The brush itself had interesting bristles, probably geared towards this sort of hair. He brushed carefully, then separated the strands.

Layla followed that up by basically head-banging, further spreading the locks apart. “Ah! Thank you!”

Now, with her hair darkened and flattened by the water, she looked different. He could see more of her resemblance to pictures of Adam. Face-shape, nose and possibly the ears.

He handed her back her things. “You’re very welcome.”

Quickly, she replaced them and returned, climbing onto his lap. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Working on your story. Just realized I didn’t give your character a last name. Any suggestions? Names of stars?”

“Um, there’s Meissa. It’s in Orion, you know the one with the belt?” She settled properly on his lap, he set his arm around her to keep her from falling. “Am I still getting a cat called Orion?”

“In real life or the story?”

“Both?” she said hopefully.

“I can only promise the story, real life is up to your dad.”

She seemed to resigned to that fact, but quickly returned to the first topic. “Daddy says Meissa comes from _Al-Meissan_ , which sounds like a last name.”

“Perfect.” He typed it in. “Do you know what it means?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll ask him when he gets back then.”

They sat like that for a while, him typing as she rested against his chest and played with his phone. He rested his chin on her head and heard her sigh contently.

Before she sat up, she turned her head up to kiss his cheek, and a goofy smile overtook his face.

It was strange, how in such a short time he had gone from generally concerned for her as a child to adoring her personally, ready to rip out his heart and hand it to her as long as it kept her giddy and happy.

Later, he reheated the pizza and they settled in front of the TV. He listened to her point at certain characters and scenes, give him facts and summaries, giving him ideas on what kids would respond to in his own story and what she liked.

Five o’clock came and went, and Joe had yet to return.

Five became eight, there wasn’t even a text from him. Where could he have been this whole time?

Layla had fallen asleep on his chest around eight-thirty, so he carried her to her room, set her alarm clock and returned to the living room to wait.

It was eleven when he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Sleep fled when he heard the door open.

Joe entered, carrying a folder. “Hey, you’re still up?”

“Don’t think I could sleep without you,” he admitted thoughtlessly.

“Can’t tell if that’s sweet or worrying.” Joe took a laminated paper and a card out of the folder. “Sébastien got to work immediately.”

It was a business card for the Aubergenie bearing the logo with the encircling name in gold font. The paper was a larger image with the horizontal font beneath it, the B in Aubergenie a simplified version of the logo.

“This is what we’ll give out and what will be on the website banner, and this is what will be on our to-go boxes,” Joe explained. “The sign on the shop will be just like the one on the boxes.”

“That was the idea,” Nicky said, taking in the tangible proof of his work.

He’d finished something, it was accepted and now about to be put to use.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither, we spent ages putting it off, and I kept saying I’d do it and I never had the time or energy to.” He touched Nicky’s wrist, making him meet his eyes. “But I’m glad you did, I love what you came up with.”

“Even the embarrassing first attempt?”

Joe broke out an embarrassed grin, smile lines deep. “That was a little Not Safe For Work, but fun all the same. Hinted that I had hope.”

“In what?”

He dropped the folder on the table by the door, hands on Nicky, mouth on his jaw. “That you’d like this.”

Eyes immediately shutting, he couldn’t resist a soft moan. “You sure you’ve never done this before? Because you seem to know what you’re doing more than I do.”

“I know what I want. The night we spent in the shop, I knew I wanted you and what I wanted to do with you.”

Nicky turned his head back, giving him access to his neck. “So, you definitely were flirting the entire time.”

Then Joe had come close enough for Nicky to smell him.

He smelled like a woman’s pungent, floral perfume. Something out of Caterina’s collection.

Like the flip of a switch, it turned him off.

“What?” Joe murmured, lips on his throat. “You ticklish here?”

“No.” He stepped back into the living room. “Where were you?”

“Told you. I went to the meeting then to work.”

“Work ended hours ago. Where were you?”

“Work isn’t confined to the kitchen, we’re doing a bunch of other stuff for the new branch.” Joe took the card and paper from Nicky’s hand. “Had to see this through, didn’t I?”

Nicky was about to accept that until Joe removed his coat and Nicky noticed makeup smeared on the side of his neck and the collar of his shirt. Like a woman had pressed her face there for a while, the foundation rendered runny by rain. Or sweat.

The finished project, the chance from Copley, day-in with Layla, and the evil eye around his neck all became monochrome, ignorable in a scene where the only color was Joe’s neck.

It was all he could think of. Fixation unyielding as it tossed up the worst but likeliest explanation. Joe had had someone on top of him, sweaty, and had either rubbed her perfume off on him or he’d used it to cover up the smell of his own sweat. That was where he’d been for hours, with Quynh.

“Nicky. Nicolò, look at me.”

When Joe touched his face Nicky jumped, taking in his wary expression and uncertain body language. There was no sign of guilt, and he didn’t seem worn out, like he looked after they’d had sex.

What was a reasonable explanation? That Quynh hugged him for a long time as they parted?

Yes, that must have been it.

It had to be it. He didn’t know what to do with the alternative.

“Tired,” he said. “Just tired.”

Without much fuss, they settled into bed, spooning like before. But Nicky had trouble sleeping, his treacherous mind pushing suspicion and dread to the front of his focus.

It had to ruin the entire week for him, but not as much as what came next.

* * *

Monday morning marked a week since he’d come to the Kaisani house.

“No!” Layla whined, clinging to Nicky as they dropped her off at school. “Stay! You have to stay!”

“I only brought stuff for a few days, everything else is back with my sister.”

“Then go and bring everything back with you!” she ordered, pouting up at him. “Bring your sister too!”

It was official, he was ready to get hit by another three cars in a row if it meant keeping this view of him in her eyes. “I don’t think she’d like that, here is pretty far away from her school.”

“Okay, no sister.” She swung from side to side, still holding onto him. “But you’re coming back.”

“If you say so.”

She beamed, releasing him. “See you then!”

After she disappeared into the building, Joe drove him back to his apartment. They lingered by his door.

“So…” Joe began. “I’m picking you up on my way back later? All your stuff?”

“Are you asking me to move in?” Nicky’s conflicted perceptions clashed within him, what Joe told him and the impressions Nicky got never aligned. “A little early for that.”

“I gave you a key. Think a week is a good time to gauge if we mesh, if Layla was comfortable with you, and how we were with each other in such close proximity.” Joe smirked at him. “Unless you’re sick of us.”

“Exact opposite, actually. I got used to you scarily fast.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Don’t want to go through that process only for you to realize you don’t want me in your house full-time and resent me, then we argue and grow to dislike each other because you’re too nice to tell me straight up you made a mistake.”

The inner edges of Joe’s brows turned up along with the bothered crease of his forehead. “Why are you thinking so far ahead?”

“If you don’t think ahead you end up in shambles.”

“That’s not my experience.”

“It’s mine.”

Joe sighed, giving him a sad smile. “Okay, I sprung this on you too fast. Take a few days? See if you miss us?”

“Of course I’ll miss you.”

He didn’t look like he believed that. “Who knows, you might be glad to be rid of us. I kind of kidnapped you from here.”

“They change the definition of ‘kidnap’ recently?” he teased. “I was a little reluctant at first, but I became a pretty willing hostage.”

Joe hummed, tapping his chin in mock-pondering. “Willing hostage, there’s a comparison for that.”

“Cupid and Psyche?” he suggested.

“I was thinking Beauty and the Beast, but that’s a pretty similar story now that you mention it.” Joe set his hand by Nicky’s head, leaning on its support. “Also I love that you say Cupid instead of Eros.”

“It’s more familiar, he’s Cupido in Italian. In French and Arabic?”

“Also Cupid, to an extent.” He wagged his brows at Nicky. “Pretty sure he shot me with one of his arrows.”

_How was he supposed to respond to that?_

Apparently, a good idea was to shove Joe and shakily shout “Shut up!”

“Too cheesy?”

“Dripping with it.”

Joe’s nose crinkled as he laughed. “You’re gonna have to get used to it.”

“Guess so.”

The moment they met in a kiss, the door opened. Nicky would have fallen on his back if Joe hadn’t caught him by the shirt.

Caterina waved at them, her hair in buns, a mud-mask on her face. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“Just us saying goodbye.” Joe gestured to Nicky’s things. “Mind if I help bring this in?”

Caterina stepped aside then helped carry the smaller things into the apartment.

As they Joe came to leave, he grabbed Nicky’s head and pulled him into a firm yet quick kiss, departing with a loud smack of their lips. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

When he shut the door he found her watching him, her face stiffened by the drying mask, but the devious smile evident in her green eyes. “So, it was a success then?”

“The job? Yeah.”

“Not the job, Nico.” She tried moving her brows. “Bagging yourself a DILF.”

Nicky went through a full-body cringe. “Don’t call him that.”

“It’s what he is.” She entered the kitchen, getting sodas from the fridge. “So? What did I miss? Did this happen before or after he socked your ex?”

“After.” Nicky accepted his drink as he dropped onto the couch. “He claims he’s wanted this from before I got hit, but I don’t know.”

“Don’t know why?”

“Part of me feels like something’s off. The timeline of it all.”

“Man, you really love to look a gift horse in the mouth.” She smacked his knee as she dropped on the cushion next to him. “He liked you enough to punch a customer in broad daylight, just because he made you uncomfortable.”

“I wasn’t ‘uncomfortable’ I was about to lose it. And I did for a while.” He took a sip, it was some off-brand Sprite. “I have to wonder, am I missing time? Did three months pass instead of three weeks?”

“You got that Disney love-at-first-sight and you’re being cynical about it?”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Could have fooled me. Looked at you like you hung the moon.” She said. “Or like you were the moon, which I guess holds more weight.”

Their night on the roof, poetry in his ears, being compared to the moon… “How’d you figure the moon is better than hanging it?”

“Because Jessie says saying _‘ya amar’_ to someone is a huge compliment.” She held her arm out, soda pressed against her heart, head turned up like a Baroque painting. _“O Moon!”_

He’d kick her, but that would dump soda on the couch. “He doesn’t love me. At most he likes me.”

“Stop selling yourself short, or I will feed you this can.” She patted his leg affectionately. “Be grateful you got job prospects and a boyfriend, I’ve got neither.”

“We never used the word ‘boyfriend’.”

“It’s not something you sign a contract on. You were in his house, spent time with his kid, went shopping with them, met his parents, and you helped each other with work.” She took a sip and her mask began to crack. “Sounds pretty domestic to me.”

“It does.” Warmth filled his chest as he touched the evil eye amulet. “I liked it a lot.”

“When are you going back?”

“Eager to be rid of me?”

She stuck out her tongue.

“I don’t know. Figured we should be apart for a few days, see what was real and what was just proximity.”

Maybe they needed a few days apart, for Nicky get some perspective. To know if what he felt was truly this intense and for Joe, or if it was his unruly feelings making it seem that way.

“Just don’t ghost him. Okay? Can’t have a repeat of last time.”

No, they couldn’t.

The week passed with Nicky being as busy as a bee, working on the comic, finalizing ideas that he bounced off Caterina and the friends that visited their apartment, and texting Joe questions.

He finished a written proposal and attached images of the finalized character designs and two pages-worth of panels showing the art-style and the start of the story. He added a little note at the end on whether it was feasible to have a background romance between Zahra’s father Mounir and her team member’s brother, Romolo.

Sending it off, he managed to join Caterina for another attempt at a family dinner. This time he sat by Flora and avoided any pitfalls with Salvatore.

“Heard you got commissioned,” was his icebreaker. “Can I see?”

Tentative, Nicky showed him the accepted designs on his phone, watching his face carefully.

“Interesting. Did they pay you or did you do it as a favor to your…fella.”

Oh, here they went.

“They paid me on Tuesday. I’ve already started work on a new project I’m hoping will get accepted.”

He nodded, watching him like he was looking for cracks. “I hope it does too. Would be nice to see some results.”

“Same.”

Awkward silence spread.

“Look, I’m not happy about the direction your life went in.”

“That makes two of us,” Nicky snapped.

His father spoke louder, with more intent. “But I hope it’s at least going up instead of downhill.”

That was unexpected.

“…Thanks.” Nicky pushed his fettuccine around the plate, channeling his unease. “Does this mean you won’t try to talk me into going into your field?”

“Only if this thing you’re doing doesn’t end up providing enough for you to live.” Salvatore raised his glass to Nicky. “I just want for you to have a steady job and a good life, is all I’m asking. But for now let’s see where this goes.”

Something akin to comfort was lit by that claim. This was his way of saying ‘Good job, keep it up’ it seemed.

He clinked his glass with his father’s. “Thanks, Dad.”

Flora let out a big sigh of relief from his left. “I was worried you were going to have another argument and ruin my dinner.”

Nicky leaned over, setting his head on her shoulder. “Sorry, Nonna. Promise we’ll try not to ruin anymore dinners.”

“Are you going to bring _him_ around for dinner soon?” Flora asked. “Catia says he has an adorable little girl, her and Bianca can play together.”

“I’ll invite him next week.” He couldn’t resist smiling at the thought of Layla meeting Flora. “He’s going to love you.”

The way Flora firmly said “He better!” as she kissed his head had them all in various states of laughter.

It wasn’t enthusiastic approval, but it was good enough. A slow acceptance of how things were going now.

It made him want to see Joe and Layla right now.

After dinner, Nicky and Caterina took a cab to the supermarket to pick up some things for their apartment. Passing the florist section, something caught Nicky’s eye and made him forget what he was going to get.

A pot of stargazer lilies.

He had to get them for Layla.

That amplified his need to see them tonight, to surprise them, see Joe light up when he saw him.

He and Caterina split there, she headed home with the groceries and he went to Joe’s house, flowers in hand.

Shifting from foot to foot in the cold on their doorstep, he rang the doorbell, holding the pot behind his back.

The door opened and he nearly dropped the flowers.

Standing in nothing but one of Joe’s shirts, which went down to her knees, was a woman. Slim, with thick, shiny hair, the top coiffed, the ends in large blow-dried curls, her high cheekbones glittering with an ethereal makeup, her lipstick partly smudged and peeled off her lips.

“Hi,” she greeted him sleepily. “You here for Joe?”

By the time he found his voice through the screams in his head, all he could muster was a breathless “Yeah.”

“Hold on.” The woman that must have been Quynh turned back and yelled, “Joe! Someone’s here to see you!”

Joe emerged in just black boxer-briefs and Nicky didn’t need to see any more.

He ran, chest compressing, fighting to remember how to breathe as he struggled to get his phone out to call a ride.

“Nicky! Where are you going!”

When he’d managed to click the button for the pick-up, Joe caught him by the arm, making him turn. “What are you doing?”

“Let go of me.” It should have been a shout, a yell, but it was a pathetic whimper.

“Nicky, it’s cold. Whatever it is, we can talk inside.”

“No.” He pulled his arm back, not breaking the grip.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Joe asked, breathing out vapor, beginning to tremble. “I could have gotten everything in order earlier.”

A hysterical, disbelieving cackle escaped Nicky. “What? Would you have stuffed her in the back of your closet until I left?”

Joe stared at him, a picture of confusion. “Why would I stuff Quynh in a closet?”

“You know why!”

He came closer. “Nicky, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

It was impressive how hard he was committing to acting like Nicky hadn’t seen anything.

“What was the point?” he asked, voice trembling. “What was the point of you doing all that with me only to…to…”

He couldn’t finish, feeling sick.

It was too good to be true. That’s why it always felt like something was off.

Men like Joe didn’t go after messes like Nicky.

Joe was talking, but Nicky couldn’t hear him properly over the whistling in his ears.

His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Why did you even bring me here? Why couldn’t you have just dropped off some flowers at my bedside and pissed off back to your life, uninterrupted by my presence?”

Joe deflated. “I initially brought you to start paying off the life-debt we owe you.”

That made the cogs in Nicky’s head whir at a maddening speed as outrage and misery collided with a deafening clash. “Is this what this all was? You feeling indebted to me?”

He felt himself losing his grip, swaying. “You thought you knew what I wanted, what would lift that burden off you? That you could give yourself to me and we’d call it even?”

Joe looked like he’d been slapped. “No. It wasn’t like that.”

“Did you at least get anything out of it? I’d hate to think you put yourself through that just to please me.” The thought did make him feel incredibly sick. That Joe had to play the lovestruck fool, keep kissing despite the urge to throw up, and put himself through discomfort all for the sake of feeling less guilty.

His face hardened but his eyes remained soft, painfully expressive. “I thought it was obvious that I enjoyed it.”

“So, what?” He was crying now, tears freezing on his face. “Had your fill for a week and decided to go back to what you were used to?”

“Stop. You know that’s not true, that’s not you talking right now.”

“Then who is it?”

His hold slipped to Nicky’s wrist, tugging. “Nicky, you’ll bring out the whole neighborhood. Just come in and I can explain everything.”

Likely story.

“Why were you both undressed?”

Joe aimed a baffled stare at him. “She got sick, threw up all over us both. I had to put our clothes in the wash.”

He couldn’t take this anymore.

A car was coming up. His ride home.

“Where’s Layla?”

“At my parents’ for the weekend.”

“Perfect chance for you to bring someone over then,” Nicky said, dripping with venom. “Do you do this every week? Do have an app for this? A rotation of people who fall for your sensitive baker single-dad schtick? Was her mother one of them?”

“Why are you doing this?” Joe reached for him with both hands, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Why are you saying this to me? What did I do?”

Nicky shoved the lily pot into Joe’s chest as the car came up. “Give these to Layla. Tell her you’re never seeing me again.”

“Nicky. Nicky!” Joe tried to stop the door, but Nicky locked it. "NICOLÒ!"

The car moved quick while Joe chased behind it, yelling at it, yelling for him and all Nicky could go was slump forward, head between his hands, and sob.

“You okay back there?” the driver asked.

“No,” he said, stuffy, shrill. “No, I’m not.”

He had seen this coming and repeatedly talked himself out of it. Nicky was an idiot and his taste in guys hadn’t changed.

He’d gotten used and cast aside once again.

The difference this time was, he had started falling in love with Joe.


	16. Chapter 16

Here Nicky was, sprawled on Nile’s couch, in her brother’s clothes, her head in his lap as they binge-watched _Fullmetal Alchemist_.

“Why did you insist on making me watch this?” he mumbled halfway through the season with bleary eyes. “This is depressing. I thought anime was supposed to be stupid and fun.”

“It’s an art-form, not a genre.”

“You could have picked something lighthearted then, I caught a few episodes of those growing up.”

“But this show is so good! The animation, the story, the characters, the themes.”

“The amount of body-horror is stressing me out.” Nicky slouched further in his seat, bone-tired and emotionally worn out. “In terms of plot-progression _I know_ it’s only going to get worse. And I don’t want to see what’s worse than what happened to their mom, and the little girl and the dog.”

She sat up with a groan to change the show. “Alright, you big baby. Guess we’re watching _Ouran High School Host Club_.”

“Don’t tell me the hosts are infested parasites or whatever.”

“No, Negative Nicky, it’s basically a rom-com, a parody of the harem genre, it’s all _for the lolz_ I assure you.”

“I can’t believe you just said ‘for the lolz’ out loud.”

She tapped his nose lightly as she leaned back in. “Well, so did you.”

Readjusting their positions, they snuggled as the show played out, high-energy, goofy, low-stakes, just what he needed to turn his brain off.

Midway through the fourth episode he asked, “What are we going to do?”

“About?”

“About the pair of best friends we’ve found ourselves mixed up with?”

Nile groaned and buried her face in his neck. “I think he wants to settle down immediately. My mom of all people has hinted at it, but I’m debating if I should go for it.”

“Still? You’re crazy about him.”

“That’s the issue. I’m always more into guys than they are into me. I don’t know if he actually likes _me_ or likes the idea of marrying someone his nephews are familiar with.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Yeah, but it’s different for you.”

“How so?”

“There’s a much less chance the guy will like you back, so you won’t go too in-depth with your fantasies, right?”

That hurt.

“Depends on the guy. If it’s a hopeless crush then no. If I felt there was hope then yeah, tons of setting myself up for failure.” He softly began stroking her back. “If your mom has no problem with you dating her boss, and we know he won’t fire her if things go south between you, what’s the problem?”

“I’m afraid that it won’t work out and I’ll lose him as a friend?” She breathed out through her nostrils, hot air against his neck. “Maybe I’ll be biting off more than I can chew with this?”

“How so?”

“Well, he’s busy a lot. Managing his business, working on opening up other shops, taking care of three kids that aren’t even his…”

“Oh, yeah. The single dad thing. That can be a dealbreaker.”

“Not for you though.”

“I thought it would be. That it’d encourage me to give up quick, but if anything…” he sighed, a sinking feeling in his gut. “If anything, seeing how he is with her made me like him even more. I think I’m a little in love with them both, and I want…I want…”

“What?” she asked softly.

“I wanted to be a part of their family.”

“Oh, Nicky.” She hugged him tighter. “You going to tell me what happened yet?”

Nicky had gone back to Caterina after his disastrous surprise visit to Joe and collapsed in her lap, crying his eyes out. It was the first time in a while he’d felt the urge to hurt himself, just so he could physically justify the pain his mind inflicted on him. He came close to punching the wall a few times.

After a night of sobbing til his eyes burned red, he texted Nile and his family, told them is anyone that wanted to get hold of him to call Caterina and turned off his phone so he couldn’t be tempted by the texts and calls Joe kept making.

He didn’t want to hear what he had to say, because he knew he’d cave in, that he’d ignore it all for the chance to be touched by him again.

Nile called Caterina, hearing from Sébastien that Joe was trying to get reach of Nicky and was going to his apartment. That’s when he finally got the chance to visit Nile, cash in all those rain-checks for time to watch whatever she’d always wanted to share with a friend.

Nile would get to be a weeb and Nicky would weep. Perfect.

“I can’t,” he said sadly. “Not yet. I want to forget right now.”

“We can do that.”

To avoid Joe when he showed up at his apartment, the next few days passed with Nicky on Nile’s couch, regrouping, letting the hurt pour out his eyes until he was dehydrated. All he did was watch stuff, redraw scenes he’d drafted and work on shading and coloring them without too much thought, and sleep while she was at work.

Their next VA meeting should have ended with them going to the Aubergenie, but he couldn’t do it. He waited behind a wall while she checked on her mother and boyfriend, and got her lunch.

“Bas says Joe misses you,” Nile said from her work-bench. Nicky had accompanied her to the Andromachine again, attempting to read while she changed a car’s oil. “Says Layla keeps asking where you are.”

The former he didn’t believe, the latter tore at his heart, like it was a canvas and the fact Layla was upset were claws, ripping and distorting the fabric of his composure.

He started crying, because he had that little control over himself at this point. Getting scared by random noises, panicking when confronted with difficult decisions, having attacks out of nowhere, and crying at the drop of a hat.

Things had looked to be getting better.

“I really thought it was going to work out when I told you to take the chance,” Nile said, wiping her oil-stained hands on a rag. “I thought we’d both struck gold in that place, my mom and you getting work, you and I getting guys. But I may have lucked out myself and screwed you over.”

“Don’t say that. You couldn’t have predicted any of this.”

She quirked her lips to the side, uncertain. “Me taking you there created this whole domino effect that landed you here now.”

“Think of it this way, if Copley accepts my work we can call it even. It would have been…it would have been worth the heartache.”

“For your sake then, I hope he hurries up and asks for the first issue. Is it issue or book?”

“Not certain yet.”

“What will you do if it gets rejected?”

“What do you recommend? I seek out another publisher?”

“You could upload them to a webtoon site. A few pages at a time. Some people get discovered there.” She waved her rag around. “I’ll show you later.”

“Thank you. Hey, your mom doesn’t know I’m with you, right?”

“She does. But she won’t tell anyone where to find you, I promise.”

And that was that for a while.

* * *

At the nudging of his sister and grandmother, he finally went to therapy. The first one he got matched up with was a condescending ass that make him almost have an attack after their session. The second seemed to hint that the greatest mental ailment he had was that he was attracted to men. The third was fresh out of school and didn’t know how to keep her opinions to herself. The fourth made him feel put under the microscope and dehumanized.

It felt like he would go through all the shrinks in the city before he’d inevitably wind up with Joe’s mother.

The one he settled on for, at least a few sessions, was the fifth. Once he showed up, he found that Dr. Khoury was Father Tony’s Remi.

It was painfully awkward, having to explain that Joe was not his husband and Layla was not their child. The the floodgates opened for him to detail everything that had happened in the last year or so.

So far, it was a good fit.

Then one session, Remi mentioned that he saw Joe at the Middle Eastern grocery store the sweet supplies came from and that he looked like a mess.

Nicky had to fight the urge to show up at his house again.

Apart from the therapy, work and VA meetings, he began accompanying Caterina to the gym, attended a few classes just to get out of the apartment, and brought Nile along to weekly family dinners.

In that time her relationship with Sébastien developed, Joe was the one babysitting the boys on their date-nights.

All in all, his life had more activity in it than it had in ages. He’d come out on the other side of that accident better.

Hadn’t he?

As winter progressed, he spent Christmas with his family and traded pictures of food, decorations and ugly sweaters back and forth with Nile, whose family had invited Sébastien and the boys. One picture was of her holding Pierre, who wore elf ears, and another was a landscape photo of her family huddled into one frame behind a table lined with food.

Once he’d settled with Fettucine, his grandmother’s cat, on his lap, his phone buzzed and a preview of a message from Joe showed:

_Merry Christmas. Give my love to your family. I miss you._

“You going to read what he said yet?” Caterina dropped into the armchair across from him. They were both by the fireplace, waiting for the lasagna to come out of the oven while Flora and Teresa and his uncles’ wives, Rita and Gia, puttered around the kitchen. The rest of the cousins were out on errands or laying about.

Stroking the cat’s head, he dropped his phone. “The email from Copley?”

“Joe’s hundred texts,” she specified, scratching under her Santa hat. “Jessie’s begging me to make you call him back.”

“What does he want at this point? Is he afraid I’ll say they can’t use my design anymore?”

“Does everything have to be so impersonal?” Caterina aimed sad eyes at him. “He liked you, I know that much. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Didn’t like me enough apparently.”

“Jessie swears Quynh is just a friend they were working with for a while and that she was spending the night.”

“Who spends the night with someone they work with? She was wearing nothing but his shirt.” He sipped his mulled wine, the cinnamon was too much this year. “Why does Jessie care so much anyway? Didn’t think she even liked me.”

“Because you made Joe happy and now he’s not.”

That was not what he was expecting. “No one else can make him happy? I’m sure he’s done the fast-forwarding-through-relationships a lot judging by the rate we went through ours. Passion burned out so fast it took me leaving his sight to be forgotten.”

“I’m just telling you what his sister told me.” Caterina shook her head. “It doesn’t add up, that everything you told me happened, but it ended quickly.”

“It never added up for him to want me. What do I have to offer a guy like that?”

Teresa entered, bearing the pyrex of lasagna, calling for them to gather while it was hot.

The topic was dropped for the rest of the holidays until New Year’s Day, when Caterina showed him pictures from Jessie.

The Kaisani family had gone to Morocco for the girls’ winter break. There was a picture of Elyes and Layla on a camel, waving. Another of the whole family posing before a highly-detailed, colorful, squared entryway. One of Nesrine, Jessie and Layla standing in an uphill vibrant-blue alleyway of some sort, each on a wide step—like they were arranged in descending order of age—with her hand on her hips. Last was of Elyes and Joe drinking tea full of mint leaves in glass gold-rimmed cups, taken with them unaware, mid-conversation.

Joe had grown out a beard and looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

It made Nicky remember the night Joe shaved his face for him. After a kiss to stall a panic attack had turned into something much more, they didn’t address it as much as had skipped over any discussion. Joe had seemed too eager to ignore his reaction to discussing his brother’s death, and leaped into fixating on exploring sex with Nicky. They had gone down on each other in the shower at some point.

In hindsight, that was probably all it was. A distraction. What better way to stop thinking about what’s upsetting you than lose yourself completely in someone who has yet to burden you with their baggage?

The problem was, it had meant much more to Nicky than that. He had gotten enamored and attached way too fast. He’d blame it solely on himself, but Joe was giving him all the signs of wanting this as much as he did. His daughter, sister and best friend knew, he didn’t mind Nile knowing. Layla was happy about it, asked him to stay. Unless she did this with everyone he brought home—which was alarming and sad—he must have been planning on something with him.

Unless he couldn’t tell his parents, and panicked into choosing Quynh.

If that were the case, why was he upset?

“Have you tried talking to him?” Remi asked after Nicky had finished unloading the contents of his mind.

They were in his office for their weekly session, Nicky slouching in his seat opposite his therapist, his hands sweaty not from the heater warming the room, but the subject.

“I don’t think I can.” Nicky sat up, pushing his hair back. It was longer now, not nearly as long as Joe had wanted to see it. “Every time I think about seeking him out, I just blank. I’ll look at him, open my mouth and nothing will come out because _I don’t know what to say._ ”

“Then listen to what he has to say.” Remi linked his fingers, the gold band gleaming in the warm light from the lamps. “Let him explain himself, see if it helps make sense of what you’re thinking.”

“That won’t fix anything, will it?”

“Does it have to?” Remi said. “What you need the most is peace of mind, not to add more stress and overthinking. You have enough of that.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Closure.” He gestured up and away. “You understand what happened, deal with it, and try to move on without having to keep looking back and questioning it.”

Nicky couldn’t stop staring at his ring, and had to ask, “How does your family feel about it?”

“Me marrying a priest? Horrified some of them. The younger ones find it funny.” He played with the ring. “Luckily, my parents are long dead, so I don’t have to worry about them or what their friends and relatives think. I just have siblings, nieces and nephews.”

“Did they attend our church?”

“Only the ones in the city.” He laughed a little. “My nephew, Harris, he’s your sister’s age. First thing he asked when I introduced them to Tony was ‘does this mean we have an in with God’?”

Nicky didn’t quite laugh, an amused huff just jostled him.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m just wondering if it’s because of his family. In that case, I don’t think I can be mad at him for that.”

“What you described, and what he and I exchange when we bump into each other, doesn’t seem that problematic. His family are very modern, educated and assimilated here.” Remi stilled, thinking. “Though, even if people from our region aren’t religious, they can still be very conservative. More about tradition than belief.”

“His sister said that. But It’s uncertain how they’d deal with it being their remaining son. Who they want to get married.” Nicky breathed out. “But he’s dropped out of college and I’m certain he wasn’t married to his daughter’s mother, which are things that can get you disowned, right?”

“It is. And he could do that and go start a business because he lives here, he’s not bound by laws and limitations of his parents’ countries.”

“So, what now?”

“Talk to him. Get answers. You won’t rest until you do.”

And that was how he ended up at the Aubergenie’s doorstep, staring up at the new sign and new font and logo on the window’s glass.

Inside he saw Lykon and Sébastien, and was ready to go in, all casual, and order something.

Then Joe left the kitchen, and when he looked at the window, Nicky’s senses fled.

He ran.

A klaxon sounded, followed by the screeching of wheels and Nicky was certain third time would be the charm and a car accident would finally take him out.

The car came to a halt just a foot away from him, the driver cursing at him out the window, but Nicky had gone stiff with fear. This dreaded incident just catapulted him back through his memories, dropping him into a retread of when the Jeep flipped and crashed, when the car hit him while he was covering Layla.

Old aches blared along his arm from his wrist to the inside of his elbow.

A hand on his jacket pulled him back onto the sidewalk.

There was talking. Talking to him. At him.

Stalled, he faced Joe, seeing him but not quite registering him yet. Hazy, face obscured by his hair and beard, he barely recognized him up close.

He returned to the present slowly, starting to make sense of what he was hearing.

“—running into the traffic like that! Are you that desperate to get away from me?”

“Yes,” Nicky heard himself say.

Joe’s mouth trembled and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.

They stood there for a minute, possibly five, then Joe’s voice broke the silence, high-pitched and choppy. “Why? What did I do?”

“You know what.”

“But I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that, to anyone. Why would you think that of me?”

“You expect me to believe a half-naked woman was in your house, while Layla was away, and you weren’t screwing her?”

“Yes!” he shouted. “We never liked each other that way, it’s not an option. Even if it was, I’d still want you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense.” Nicky had begun to wheeze, too worked up by the moment and what preceded it. “Guys like you don’t want messes like me. I have nothing to offer you, except to sate your curiosity. Or be a distraction from what troubled you until you found someone worth your time?”

It wasn’t anger that worked Joe’s jaw, but it was an unpleasant emotion all the same. “Think you’ve got me all figured out?”

“I’ve been trying to make sense of you for ages.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert in Theoretical Guys-You-Ditch?”

“Then what else is it? How did you go from trying to make yourself feel less guilty to asking me to move in with you? Something doesn’t add up here.”

“We were together a week, spent almost all day, every day together. That was enough for me to know I wanted you to stay, that I really, really liked you.”

“That’s not long enough.”

“It was for me!” Joe shouted, echoed down the nearby alley. “People here move too damn slow, and I can’t do that. I know what I want and how I want it in an instant, and what I wanted was you.”

“But you want her more.”

He growled with frustration. “For the last time, nothing happened. Nothing could have made me forget you like that.”

It didn’t sound right or real. No one would pick Nicky over Quynh in all her elvish glamor and sophisticated beauty. “Joe, the first time we had what you didn’t consider sex, you weren’t in your right mind. How was I supposed to interpret everything that came after it if it wasn’t a bad decision you’d regret?”

“I knew what I was doing, Nicolò,” he snapped. “You think I just let anyone touch me like that? If you had been anyone else, even Sébastien, I’d have knocked your lights out. It went the way it did because I wanted it.”

It did seem that way, after he had calmed down enough to talk. But it still didn’t add up. “After that you kept behaving weirdly, you wouldn’t discuss it with me. You just kept acting like we already had, like we’d been together for months.”

“Because it felt that way,” he said in a small voice. “I was just so excited that you liked me back, and that we connected, and that Lily liked you, and talking with you was just so easy.” His mouth trembled, he forced it to steady long enough to whisper, “I wanted you to stay.”

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. His refusal to believe it began to collapse. “Was it because I said no to you asking me to come back with you, to move in?

Joe stared at him with disbelief. “You think I felt slighted by you not being ready for that and cheated on you because of it? Just how petty do you think I am?”

“I don’t know what to think!”

“Think better of me!” He brought his hands on his chest in a loud slap. “Why would you think so little of me, of my morals, my personality, my feelings for you?”

“I told you, it didn’t add up, why you would have feelings for me. What do you even see in me? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I saw someone with the potential to be a successful artist, who was patient with me, and actually listened to and understood me. Who comforted me when I was upset, who saw me that way and didn’t get turned off. Who showed interest in my work and handled my parents well.” Joe looked towards the street. “Who saved my daughter without thinking, and treated her with care and respect enough to not talk down to her, and made something from scratch to make us and people like us happy.”

“Oh.”

“You could have just asked me. If you had doubts, you could have just asked,” he said, sounding pained. “Did you even want this to begin with or were you just humoring me?”

“I wanted it so bad it hurts when I think of our time together.” He choked mid sentence, feeling his eyes heat up. “I thought I could have just slipped into your lives and stayed there, but I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because everything pointed to this being a mistake on your part, that you wanted more than I could give you, that you’d wake up after a week or two and realize this wasn’t what you wanted for life, just for now. Because I’m not the career-woman your family would love to have, who’d give you four kids, and not cause you any trouble.”

Joe calmed, looking more disappointed than angry. “You have a very low opinion of yourself, and I don’t know if I can change your mind. Don’t know if I can when you’re so insistent on hating yourself so much it sabotages everything we could have had.”

Nicky felt like he’d been backhanded.

Nile had told him he would self-sabotage and it was starting to seem like he did.

Tears made their way down his eyes slowly, eyes hot against the jittery cold of late January.

Joe’s own eyes reflected his’ state. “She misses you.”

“What?”

“Layla. She keeps asking where you went, why you didn’t come back. I don’t know what to tell her anymore.”

“I miss her too,” he admitted miserably. “I can’t stop thinking about her as I work on my story. I keep wondering what I missed, if she’s taller, missing teeth, if she likes whoever you’re with now.”

“No one. I can’t—can’t get back out there.” Joe took in a deep breath, then wheezed, “I told my parents.”

Nicky’s jaw dropped.

Joe gestured between them, blinking the tears off his lashes. “I told them about us.”

“How’d they take it.”

“Not that well at first. Mom kept trying to psychoanalyze what in my life could have led to me being like this, then accused me of trying to piss her off, then said you’d put some spell on me or something.”

“Spell?”

“Did I mention we kinda believe in black magic?” He curled his finger towards his neck. “Hence the evil eyes.”

At that, Nicky took his necklace out of his sweater, and Joe let out a soft, disbelieving, “You still have it.”

“Couldn’t take it off.” Nicky thumbed the glassy surface of the blue eye, attempting to smile. “I think it does help, with the nightmares at least. Maybe I was being attacked by a genie.”

Joe laughed, a short, tired noise. “I used to get sleep paralysis, after Adam died. Mom called it being attacked by a genie.”

“Is that them possessing you?”

“No, possession would be just us acting crazy,” he said. “The word for madman— _majnoun_ —literally means ‘possessed by a genie’.”

“Does your dad think the same?”

Joe shrugged. “He doesn’t get it. But he’s scared, just on principal. Because back where both he and my mom are from it’s dangerous to be out, or even suspected. I had to keep reminding him we were here and that he had co-workers like me living normal lives.”

That touched Nicky, and it fit into his impression of the man he met. “He’s not mad?”

He shook his head. “He’s confused, but he just told me to be careful.” Joe stumbled over a breathy chuckle. “Then he said at least you weren’t French or British or Turkish, because then he’d really have a problem.”

“Why those specifically?”

“Imperialism issues, I guess? And I just think they couldn't mesh with them, say they're obnoxious and frigid.” Joe looked into the shop window, presumably at Sébastien. “They lived in Paris until after Adam was born, and my dad was there for ages before that. Got the first job out of there he could and that’s how we ended up here.”

“What would they accept?”

“If not from either of their countries, then our neighbors will do.”

“Like Moroccans or the Lebanese?”

“Lebanese, sure. But—” he stumbled over a giggle. “But no, they claim Moroccan women are all witches.”

That tidbit amused him somewhat. “Is there a story behind that?”

“Probably several for it to have become a stereotype. I’m betting they’re the kind that don’t make sense translated though. Regional bullshit, you know?”

“Figures.” He looked up at him out the corner of his eye. “So, no Europeans?”

“Like I said, our neighbors. There have been Italians in Tunisia for centuries, hence why my dad really warmed up to you. And my grandma was raised among them and Greeks in Alexandria,” he explained. “My mom calls Greeks ‘drunk, islander Egyptians’.”

Nicky’s response became a cough more than a laugh. “That’s a perspective I never considered.”

“Most don’t.” Joe pointed himself than Nicky. “They forget we share a sea and crap-ton of history and culture because of that.”

“Yeah, we were all part of the Roman Empire at some point.”

“Or the Ottoman Empire,” he said, looking he’d just bitten into an unripe lemon. “Which is at least the case for the Eastern Mediterraneans. Moroccans I’ve met like reminding me that the Turks never got them.”

“Yeah, but the French did.”

Joe cracked a small grin. “Can’t believe I never thought of that comeback.”

Nicky felt himself mirroring his expression. “Well, now you better use it.”

It was almost unnerving how, even how bad things had gotten, they just resumed their rhythm like they had never stopped dancing around each other. One would think nothing had happened.

And he wished that were the case, that they had remained like this.

The question was, what now?

“Thanks, for, uh.” Nicky jerked his thumb at the road. “Thanks for the save.”

“I didn’t save you, the car stopped in time.”

“Oh. Right.”

The tension had practically been diffused from the start of their confrontation. All Nicky could do now was think of how much he—

“I miss you.”

Joe let out a soft, disbelieving gasp. “I miss you too. So much.”

Conflict wracked Nicky, leaving him unable to think. He had to ask, “What do we do about that?”

“I’d say we stop being apart.”

“You mean you want us to be seeing each other?”

Joe worked his jaw, uncertain. “Not in the way I want, no. But just, don’t be a stranger?”

Hope grabbed hold of his tongue, flinging what-ifs and what-could-bes all around him. “What…what if we could try again?”

“I want that, I really do. But you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Your actions said otherwise.” Joe seemed to pant, having trouble breathing as he spoke, eyes still wet. “Nicky, I’ve lost a lot, I’ve been cast aside, left behind, forgotten and devalued enough already. I am too old for this uncertainty, to waste my time. I have a daughter I need to think of.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’ve run away from me, what? Three, four times since we met? Five, if we’re counting just now?” He wiped at his face, sniffling. “And you’ve ignored me for months now and I— _I can’t keep chasing you_. I need someone who wants me enough to stay.”

Disappointment snuffed out whatever kindling hope he had, leaving just a sad trail of smoke choking him. “I don’t mean to. I only ran once and that was because you broke my heart.”

“But I didn’t. You broke your own, then mine.” Sighing, Joe came close enough to kiss his forehead. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

As Nicky struggled to respond—torn up by the fact that Joe had remembered the birthday he himself had forgotten—Joe headed back inside the shop. “Take care of yourself, Nicolò. I hope you find the one that makes you stay.”

All he could do was stare after him, fighting the urge to sob loudly.

A wasted chance, this was what they were. A regret only seen in hindsight during twilight years had played out right before his bleary eyes.

If they had met next year, or even the one after, then this could have worked. Nicky would have had more time to adjust, work on himself, heal, and Joe would have been more experienced with this side of himself.

Their paths had crossed too early and that proved that, like in baking, timing was everything.

And he hadn’t gotten closure as the doctor had ordered. Just confirmation that he’d just irreparably ruined everything.


	17. Chapter 17

February passed in a lessening chill, a lot of rain, and a complete graphic novel that got sent off to Copley.

He accepted it with great enthusiasm, which should have been more cause for celebration than it was. Nicky’s family seemed more excited about it than he did.

He wanted to go tell Layla. Tell Joe that he couldn’t have done this without them. That he missed them.

Instead, once he got his proof copy and shared it with Caterina, he headed over to Nile’s, copy in hand for her to read.

The second she opened her door, Nicky’s excitement waned.

Standing over her shoulder, looking ready to pop Nicky’s head off his shoulders, was Sébastien.

Glowering at Nicky, he softly said to her, “Lilette, can you give us a moment alone?”

Nile mouthed ‘ _I’m sorry’_ before slipping out past him, reusable cloth-bags in hand. “I just need to make a quick run to the store. Try not to destroy my place while I’m gone.”

The instant she dipped out of sight, Sébastien grabbed hold of Nicky’s jacket and yanked him inside.

It was this moment that he realized just how big Sébastien was. Tall, broad and beefy, with large hands and feet, he could have been a terror if he weren’t so soft-spoken.

Nicky thought his best bet to avoid the rage Sébastien radiated was to stall. “Where are Huey, Dewey and Louie?”

“With Joe. He watches them when Nile and I have date-nights.”

Nicky backed up. “Am I intruding? I should just go then.”

Sébastien steadied him with a grip on his right wrist, making his fight-or-flight response kick in. “No, you and I are going to talk.”

“About Nile? You planning on popping the question? It’s a little early, don’t you think? But I should warn you, she doesn’t like rubies, so avoid any rings with that in them,” Nicky babbled anxiously.

“I’ll keep that in mind. But what I wanted to talk about was what you did to my best friend.” Sébastien turned them around, putting himself between Nicky and the door. “I’ve been avoiding this for a while, but now I need to get involved.”

Worry shot up like lava from a volcano. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“In terms of business and health, yes. But you have made him very depressed.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Sébastien’s frown joined his raised, furious voice. “You abandoned him, you get that, right? He put a stake into you and it bankrupted him emotionally.”

“I think you mean he ‘put stock into’ not ‘put a stake’.”

That correction made him look really ready to hit Nicky. “You got what I meant.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then why did you do it?” he asked, outraged. “Why did you just run out on him, ignore him, then just as he starts feeling better, show up and say things to him that made him get even worse?”

Worse?

“What happened?”

“He’s depressed, almost back to the state he was after his brother passed. He was so happy that week you were there, so confident he’d found what he and Layla needed. Then you accused him of impossible acts and cut him off.” He shook his hands at Nicky questioningly. “He told me everything. All the secrets he told you, what you discussed, what he thought he’d found in you, only for you to slam the door in his face so hard you break his nose.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want sorry, I want answers!” he shouted. “Joe is a good man, and you hurt him. I demand to know why you threw away all he wanted to give you.”

It was now that Nicky understood that he was getting a late version of the shovel-talk, but he had already done what he would have gotten threatened into avoiding. While the threat was implied, he was still scared. Sébastien had admittedly been stabbed twice, meaning he’d been in nasty fights and made it out alive.

That didn’t bode well for him.

But he was not scared enough to hold back spitting Sébastien’s own words out at him. “It would have never worked out between us, I’m ' _a little deranged'_ , remember?”

Sébastien stared at him, mouth half-open, then understanding seeped in as he spat, _“You moron.”_

“Excuse me?”

“No, I won’t excuse you.” Sébastien smoothed back his hair, breathing angrily out his nose. “Is that what all this was about? You overhearing me giving him a reality check?”

“Yeah, about what he was doing with me.”

“It had nothing to do with you, it was about him thinking overworking himself was a good idea!” Sébastien practically yelled. “Quynh, the old college friend of his who was helping us with franchising, was encouraging his stupid idea of being hands-on with both shops. He wanted to oversee or even bake for both everyday, going back and forth, to maintain quality and consistency and she kept telling him it was a good idea! I told him no and he wasn’t budging.”

He held out his hands, presenting the fact. “He kept telling me he could handle it when I know how he gets when he’s stressed—biting off more than he can chew, that’s the phrase, isn’t it? He gets worked up, his attention span gets worse, beats himself up and doesn’t think ahead.” He sighed loudly. “Forgets things in the oven, forgets to eat, once forgot to pick Layla up from school because he was stressing out about managing everything himself.”

He gave Nicky a dull face with glassy eyes, presenting it with one hand under his chin. “He would be like this, for a while. Just staring at nothing. Did it in the shower a lot. Gone from his head. Terrifying.”

“Disassociating. I do that.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Nicky didn’t know how he was supposed to take that.

“Before we hired Patricia and Lykon, it was hectic.” Sébastien brought his hands in a clap. “That’s what I was talking to him about. I knew he was setting himself up for a nervous breakdown where we got less done in the long-run instead of more, and Quynh—who’s never worked with her hands—is the last person to be telling him how to do his job.”

“So you…”

“Stopped being nice and suggesting alternatives, and told him plainly it was a dumpster-fire idea.”

“Oh.” Nicky processed all he heard and then felt the urge to sucker-punch himself. _“Oh.”_

Sébastien made a low growling noise, glaring down at him. “Yes, ‘oh’.”

“But Quynh was at his house, in his clothes, Layla wasn’t there. What else was going on there if they weren’t sleeping together?”

“Quynh was consistently drunk in that time, so if I didn’t know what type person Joe was, I’d watch that accusation you’re making.” He advanced, shoulders rising. “If he were the type to try to have sex with drunk lesbians I’d have snapped his neck.”

_Lesbians?_

“Quynh is a…Quynh’s…?”

“As gay as you are,” Sébastien snapped. “Her bitch ex-girlfriend dumped her over the phone. She went to her house to try to patch things up with gifts and wine and found her with her twenty year-old assistant. Drank the entire bottle herself, went to a bar, kept drinking, then called Joe and scared the shit out of him.” He held his hands up. “Brought her back with him to keep an eye on her and she vomited all over the place. He had no women’s clothes so he gave her a shirt and cleaned himself up, then you showed up.” He inclined his head towards Nicky. “And you know the rest.”

“But they talked about kids and getting married,” Nicky stuttered, mind frazzled.

“So have he and I. We joke about marrying each other if he’s still single by age forty all the time.” Sébastien touched his nose. “He’s always says something about wanting children to get my height but not my nose. I told him they better not have his teeth or his meerkat-eyes.”

“It was a joke and there was no chance of him ending up with her. Then why does his mom insist he does?”

“Because she’s desperate to see him settle down, doesn’t matter with who at this point. Back where they’re from, if you’re not married in your twenties you’re going to get whispers or outright harassment, it’s not socially acceptable to reach _my_ age and still be unmarried.” He turned his hands in towards his chest. “Probably one of the reasons she’s still cold towards me, I’m the spinster stuck with his crazy sister’s kids. She wouldn’t want to be caught associating with me.”

Nicky didn’t quite laugh, but he made a nervous hiccuping noise. “Then what do you want me to do? If you’re not good enough as a business partner, think they’ll accept me as a life-partner?”

“Why do you care so much what they think?”

“Because he does. They’re his parents. And he said he wants more kids.”

Sébastien gave him a look that said _So?_ “He’s too old to be afraid of what his mother thinks, and she’s never pleased. She’s the kind that has to be given no option but to accept it, then she warms up to it. Like our business, like him raising Lily alone, like him being into men.”

So, Joe really had told his parents…

Trying to deflect from how shitty he felt, he asked, “Am I ever going to find out where her mother is?”

“Ask him that yourself.” He seemed to deflate a little, face still tight. “Also, you know there other ways to have kids these days, right? It’s not a deal-breaker if you can afford it, and he certainly can. His parents will even foot the bill because it will be a while til Jessie gives them any grandchildren.”

“All of this doesn’t explain how he was acting. It never made any sense, how we went from barely flirting to him acting like we’d been together for months.” Nicky felt his intestines twisting into knots at the fast shift in their relationship.

Sébastien palmed his face. “This was never about Quynh.”

“What? Yes, it was.”

“No, it’s about him coming on so strong he scared you off.”

Nicky felt the world fly past him, so the only things standing still were him and Sébastien. All that whooshed past him in sounds and lights were the memories of the past few months.

On some fundamental level, he was right.

But it couldn’t be, right?

“He didn’t scare me off!”

“Yes, yes, he did.”

“How would you know?”

“Because he’s an extrovert who just looks at someone and decides whether they’re worth his whole attention. It unsettles people. It’s why he always had such a hard time making friends.” He pointed at himself. “Because he did that to me when we first met. I cracked open the door just a bit and found him bursting in and making himself at home.”

“Like your cat.”

“Yes, like Michou.” A hint of a smile threatened to show itself. “He just talked to me for a bit, felt we were a good fit and decided he was my new best friend, then decided we were opening a shop together.”

“Just forced himself into your life.”

He nodded. “He lucked out with me, I’m easygoing enough to just accept things like this. Anyone else would have either gotten sick of him or done what you did.”

Guilt dropped on Nicky’s shoulders, making him slouch. “I don’t…Okay, I spent that entire week freaking out. I never had any idea what was going on in his head, I kept getting conflicting impressions of what he wanted, felt like things were moving weirdly fast and.” He stopped, hunching now, feeling worse. “I could never tell what his angle was.”

“There was no angle. What you see is what you get. He doesn’t think ahead enough to consider being deceptive.” Sébastien seemed to reconsider his words, adding, “I mean, he can make reservations enough to withhold information, but he’s not a liar.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that you don’t owe people personal information, and can have a variety of reasons to not bring something up. Lying is if you asked him for a straight answer and he gave you the wrong one.”

That was a stupid question, he wanted to smack himself for that among many other reasons brought up right now. “I appreciate you not being condescending about this. I’m having a very hard time thinking straight.”

That seemed to soften him a little. “I figured, you’re not behaving normally enough for me to think you know what you’re doing.”

“Then what am I doing? What did I do?” The gaps Sébastien had filled had begun to settle, be absorbed into his coherent thoughts, and it was disastrous. “Why did I do that? Why did I leave?”

“If you ask me, it seems like you wanted an out. It got too much too soon and you needed an excuse to avoid him until you pulled yourself together, and that excuse was Quynh.”

“But I liked him. A lot.” An overwhelming feeling of lost-ness making his head swim, his voice weakening as he stammered, “W—Why—Why would I want to get away from him? I wanted him. I went back to his house to surprise him when I saw her there. I miss him and Layla. I loved my time with them. Why would I need an excuse to get away?”

It felt like he was talking to himself more than Sébastien.

“I’m not your therapist, Nicolò. All I can tell is that you’re a nervous wreck and Joe being the way he is didn’t help.” The way he said it, fed-up and tired, make Nicky flinch. “I get why you reacted the way you did. But he didn’t deserve getting cut out like that, not after he bared so much of himself to you in a short time.”

“Is he mad at me?”

“He’s upset. I don’t know if you saw how he gets, but it’s not good.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Go fix this!”

“I can’t. He doesn’t want me anymore.”

Sébastien made a rude snorting noise. “He does. That’s the problem. I don’t know what black magic you worked on him, but it stuck.”

“Black magic?”

Sébastien shrugged dismissively. “It’s what his mother said. And I’m starting to buy it, because I don’t get what it is about you that’s got him like this.”

He almost dreaded asking. “Like how?”

“Like you pulled the rug out from under him and he can’t get back up.”

Nicky choked on air. “But what do I do?”

“I told you, fix this!”

“How? Tell me how?”

“I don’t know! Tell him you love him, and go back to playing house with him and Lily!”

“What makes you think I love him?”

He snatched the proof copy of the graphic novel from Nicky’s hand, silencing him before he could protest by flipping through a few pages before showing him a panel of Stargazer Lily’s father Mounir standing before a vivid-blue and white doorway. In a white and gold kaftan, scimitar in his sash, behind him the structure was etched with intricate detail in interlocking patterns, and on his shoulder was his falcon familiar, Haitham—a nod to the Egyptian sky god Horus, who the Romans had equated with Apollo.

“Very lovingly made, I must say.”

“How did you know?” Nicky squeaked, shrinking with embarrassment. “Nile told you?”

Sébastien’s look just said _Seriously?_ “Nile and I tell each other almost everything.”

“How? Why?”

“Because we’re adults who want to be on the same page before we start a family together.”

“Family?” Nicky squawked. “You’ve been dating a few months!”

“So? We’ve known each other years. And I can’t wait any longer, I want to be able to keep up with whatever children we have.” Sébastien flipped further through the novel, scanning the pages. “Hoping for at least one girl to name Madeleine.”

“Madeleine, like the little cakes?”

He huffed amusedly. “That’s a bonus. It’s for both Nile and I’s grandmothers, Madeline and Marie-Madeleine.”

Nicky thought of Joe wanting to name a son after his brother. “Oh, that’s sweet.”

“Fitting, as I run a sweetshop.”

Nicky wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not.

Sébastien shut the novel and handed it back to him. “Beautiful work, Robin would enjoy reading this. He enjoys comics more than plain text books.”

He took it back, wary. “Thank you. I’ll give him a copy once they’re out.”

“When will it be out?”

“Copley wants as soon as possible, so it can have been available for purchase before he sends it to the Frankfurt Book Fair for the Comics & Illustration section. Thinks someone picking up translation rights could give us a boost abroad.”

“That’s fantastic. We’re officially opening our second shop soon and will be having a party to celebrate.” Sébastien tapped the book. “Come celebrate both successes, see your work on the outside of the shop. Bring your family.”

Suddenly, he felt cornered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because Joe and Layla will be there.”

“Exactly, a great chance to patch things up.”

Nicky firmly shook his head. “Didn’t you hear me? He doesn’t want me after what I did.”

Sébastien squinted at him. “Did he say those words exactly?”

“Said he can’t keep running after me anymore, that he hoped I found someone else.” He swallowed, throat dry but eyes wetting. “Sébastien, he basically told me to fuck off when I asked if we could try again.”

“No, he said he wanted that but couldn’t handle you leaving again.” He opened his arms to encompass the room. “All of this could have been avoided if you actually talked to each other honestly, and understood how you both operate, like Nile and I do.”

“But—”

Sébastien cut him off with a growl. “He named a fucking biscuit after you, you self-defeating asshole! What do you mean he doesn’t want you?”

“He _what?_ ”

“The sahlab biscuits, we call them nicolinos.”

Nicky was lucky the couch was behind him, because his legs collapsed out from under him.

His tongue was too heavy to form words for a while. When he did manage a noise, it was a slow repeat of “He…he…”

“Come to the opening party of the second Aubergenie shop and make up with him, or I swear to God I’ll make you into meat pies.”

The meat-pie threat must have been an inside joke between Joe and Sébastien.

He gripped Nicky’s jaw, forcing him to make eye contact. “Do we have a deal?”

Nicky nodded dazedly.

He patted Nicky’s face. “Glad we had this talk.”

Nile returned not long after with three full bags to find Nicky huddled on one side of the couch, reeling, while Sébastien read through his book and gave him feedback. “Bas, I couldn’t find the Lurpak butter, but I got something called Kerrygold instead, would that still work—” she stopped, staring at them. “You didn’t fight did you?”

Sébastien thumped Nicky’s back in a jovial, friendly way. “No, we cleared some things up. Right, Nicolò?”

Nicky nodded, still feeling like his world had titled.

Quynh was gay, and Joe named a biscuit after him, came out to his parents, said Layla missed him, that he was tired of chasing after him but wanted him to stay.

And everything else had been him mishearing or misinterpreting stuff. A story of self-sabotage on par with a Greek tragedy.

But he had yet to die in a horrific accident, be dismembered alive, poisoned by his own spouse, been vengefully murdered, or fallen in battle. Or found out in some soap opera-style twist that Joe and he were secretly siblings, leading to him gouging out his eyes in horror and wandering the earth like Oedipus.

Nicky had a chance to fix things at the new shop’s party.

He just hoped it worked.


	18. Chapter 18

Spring came with advanced copies of _Stargazer Lily_ being sent out to bloggers and reviewers, showing up in limited selections with Copley throwing his full weight behind it. Nicky had tried to talk him out of it during one meeting when he loudly shushed him.

“Yes, I ‘need to do this’. We’re taking this line beyond picture-books about blended families, single parents and adoption, or being from a different background. Those are all well and good, we publish those, but what we need to hit the mainstream and make an impact is for these narratives be a feature not the focus of fiction.” Copley explained, sitting on his desk, pointing down at Nicky in the seat across. “They need to not be singled out, to be just accepted, normalized.”

Nicky picked at a loose thread coming out of his pants, worried. “Don’t the other stories do that?”

“Yes, but they’re always too grounded in reality.” Copley took his glasses off, rubbing the space they had sat on with his thumbs. “It can be tiring, to be constantly reminded of how different you or your situation are. What we need, more than ever, are stories about how this is an unquestionable reality for many, and isn't the focal point of the story.”

“Isn’t the whole point of your imprint?”

“Giving them exposure is not the same as singling them out.” Copley crossed his arms, sounding affected. “You must feel this. All those miserable stories that end with one or both men dead.”

Nicky slumped. “I guess.”

“We are underrepresented in Fantasy and Sci-Fi, which should not be the case given how detached from reality it is. It seems like we’re only allowed to exist in media that exploits our misery and our real-world struggles, _that’s_ what gets exposure and awards.” Copley sighed heavily. “They’re rarely about us being having fun saving the world. And since we can’t show up in stories without being accused of having some kind of agenda, we need to have ones that are about us to begin with.”

All Nicky could think about was the conversation that started the ideas for S _targazer Lily_. Joe complaining about _Star Wars_ using Tunisia as an iconic backdrop for its world then never, even up til this day, including anyone from North Africa or the Middle East. And how the _Mummy_ movies exploited Egyptian history, mythology and aesthetic and didn’t feature a single Egyptian.

“People being left out of their own narratives is a problem too.”

“Which is why I want to start changing this. Starting by giving your story the most exposure, it can be what _Harry Potter_ did for Bloomsbury or _Percy Jackson_ for Hyperion. Should it succeed it can benefit the company, show the higher-ups that there is a viable market for these stories, and put more money into getting more of these stories out there.”

“Bottom-line in the end.”

Copley nodded. “We are a business at the end of the day. Demand drives sales.”

“On that note, do you think I can make a romance between two men?” Nicky quickly followed up with. “It’s mostly in the background, between Zahra’s father and the werewolf princess’ brother.”

“I don’t see why not. It would be a bonus, not just her being from this background with a single father, but gaining a second one.” Copley cupped his chin, stroking it thoughtfully. “Think these stories usually start with the parents together, so it could add another element to the game-changer aspect.”

“It won’t discourage parents from buying?”

“Nicky, if there is anything I learned in all my years in publishing it’s that controversy drives sales. The more people speaking out against it the more free press we get, the more people will rush to buy and support out of spite.” He pointed at him. “Do it.”

And that was that. Mounir Al-Meissan and Romolo Icariano’s romance was slated to be set up and explored in a B-plot where they set out to rescue Zahra and Romolo's sister, Celestina, in an _Odyssey_ -like journey through the seas of the planet Neptune.

It was terribly indulgent, and him living out his fantasies because he felt like, even if they made up, he would never get to be with Joe. That ship had sailed further than the _Starduster_ , the naval ship that soared through the skies—something he may have pulled from _Treasure Planet_.

But he’d take what he could get.

Despite that, he’d spent the past few months working on bettering himself. Going to therapy, eating better, exercising, attending VA meetings, befriending people from there and via his work now—Copley had put him in touch with other writers and illustrators in his roster—spending more time with his family.

The last thing he expected was Flora trying to set him up with the father of one of the children in her daycare. Or Salvatore, subtle as a fire engine siren, dropping hints that the new teller at his bank had recently come out as bisexual and been dumped by his girlfriend for it.

This all had to happen as they got ready to leave for the opening of the new Aubergenie shop.

Nicky could squirm all he wanted, but it was the thought that counted. His family had accepted it enough to behave this way, which was all he could have asked for years ago.

He tried not to giggle as he and Caterina shared looks from over their father’s shoulder. “Dad, I don’t think I’ll have anything in common with this guy.”

Salvatore shut the house door behind him after hustling his remaining children out. “Why not? Eric’s near your age, into all that nerdy crap you like, goes to Comic-Con and everything. I can actually talk to him about work so, no awkward conversations during family dinners, and he’s got no baggage.”

“Dad,” Caterina said warningly, top of her head appearing over the open car door. “Don’t call it baggage.”

Salvatore brushed her off as he got into the driver’s seat. “What? He’s got no kids, no dead wife to try to replace Nico with, I call that no baggage.”

Flora beat Teresa to riding shotgun, smacking her son’s arm before she settled. “Half of that baker’s appeal was that he was a father, Sal. Shows he’s not likely to mess around and be a stable force that our Nico needs in his life.” She turned to face Nicky, who now sat squished against the car door with Caterina between him and Teresa in the backseat. “Isidore’s father is a very nice man, a widower, works a great job for a publisher. You will have plenty in common.”

“Isidore’s last name wouldn’t happen to be Copley, would it?”

Flora brightened. “You know him?”

“Nonna, James Copley’s my boss.”

Caterina threw back her head and laughed. Salvatore soon joined her.

“This is a nice coincidence at least,” Teresa offered. “Should create more fondness for Nicky now that his child is in your care, Flora.”

Flora didn’t seem pleased. “Of all the people in this city, it had to be his editor. He’s the only parent I like enough to suggest.”

“Couldn’t be a bigger coincidence than his shrink being Father Tony’s husband,” Salvatore grumbled, pulling out of the drive way. “What are the odds of that happening?”

That made Caterina start singing, _“It’s a small world after all!”_ with Bianca joining her from her and Frankie’s second backseat.

“Don’t you dare get that accursed song stuck in my head!” Salvatore yelled at her. “You know what? No more talking til we get there.”

Then he turned on the radio.

_Eternal Flame_ by the Bangles played and Nicky’s good mood dropped like a cannonball in water.

The entire ride to the new address he sat with his head pressed against the glass. 

Their discussion about earworms should have included _It’s A Small World_. Made him wish to go back in time even more.

One short traffic jam later, they arrived at the new shop, larger than the first with an outdoor space giving it more of a café feel, and that’s where people mostly mingled.

Salvatore clapped Nicky loudly on the back and pointed at the LED sign over the shop, _Aubergenie_ with the eggplant-bottle instead of the B. “You did that.”

“That he did.” Sébastien had arrived, carrying a tray of petit fours, his second-oldest nephew, Louis, at his hip. “Glad you showed up. Nile and I had a bet that you wouldn’t.”

“Which one of you bet against me.”

“I did.” Sébastien offered the tray first to Flora. “Though I would have come and dragged you here by the scruff of your neck.”

Ignoring that, Flora raised the biscuit she’d bitten into. “This is delightful, what it is it?”

“A tiny éclair, by the looks of it,” Teresa said, joining her in sampling the tray.

“That it is.” Sébastien looked right at Nicky. “Joe made them.”

His chest tightened as he glanced around. He spotted Lykon standing by a table that held his family, enthusiastically explaining each thing being served to a grouchy-looking old man with a walrus mustache that must have been his grandfather. Then he found Nile standing nearby in a turquoise dress, chatting with people from the VA, wearing a matching choker over her scar. Nile’s mother, brother and grandmother—Patricia, Michael and Madeline—were chatting with Joe’s parents. Elyes was animatedly explaining something while Michael nodded along, while Nesrine seemed to be unenthused, complaining about something while rubbing her lower back, Patricia seemed to agree, pointing at her knees.

Among a bunch of unfamiliar faces, Nicky spotted Quynh in a white pantsuit, sans the jacket, leaning against the refreshments table with Nile’s boss, Andy. She watched her with keen interest as Andy mimed holding reins, likely talking about riding horses.

She must have made a joke, but it couldn’t have been as funny as Quynh made it out to be, throwing her head back and shoving Andy playfully.

Yep, flirting. That was flirting.

Nicky approached them, hands steady, heart too loud. 

“—you develop certain kinds of muscles you don’t really use for anything else,” Andy was saying. “You don’t just sit and dangle your legs, you know? You have to have the arm-strength to hold on to the reins with no risk of loosening your grip and have strong, firm thighs as you keep yourself on the horse’s back.”

Quynh giggled, batting her long, false lashes. “I’d love to experience that, it should be an interesting workout.”

“You’ll be crazy sore, I’m warning you.”

“Oh, it’ll be worth it. I used to play tennis, it wore me out in its own way but it was rewarding.”

Andy paused sipping her drink. “What is it with rich kids and tennis?”

“Rich kids also ride horses, plenty own them too.”

“Yeah, but I grew up on a farm,” Andy explained. “I didn’t have horses because I told Daddy I wanted a pony for my birthday, they were part and parcel of the place.”

“Oh, a farm! What’s that like?”

It was obvious Quynh was not interested in knowing anything about farm life, she just wanted Andy to keep talking. 

After a while, it occurred to Nicky that Andy was being very thick, not catching onto any of Quynh’s obvious hints.

This was his cue then.

“I’m sick of people romanticizing rural life, it’s not idyllic! It’s hard! You have to wake up very early and work until you drop, and you do so much dirty work like mucking stables, cleaning up shit in general, chasing after chickens that escape, keeping predators away from your animals, milking the cows, helping some of them give birth—” Andy finished her drink before continuing. “What is this cottagecore shit all the girls I talk to are into? No, I don’t want to go back to living in the middle of nowhere to grind my own wheat, churn my own butter, and milk goats at my age, thank you very much. I want to work on cars, get a dog and enjoy my life.”

Quynh’s hope was visibly beginning to wane when Nicky entered her line of sight. She jumped, aiming a surprised face his way. “Oh, hi!”

“Hi.” He waved awkwardly before extending his hand. “We weren’t properly introduced the first time we met, I’m Nicky.”

“I’m Quynh, Joe’s told me so much about you.” Quynh gave him her hand, limp-wristed, like she expected him to kiss it. 

He did, taking his time to gauge if Andy responded with any jealousy. Judging by how hard she gripped her glass of mint-lemonade, she did.

Looks like one of them had hope from tonight. He could at least try arranging that for her after making her his villain.

“All bad things, I’m sure,” he said, making her scoff with shock.

“No! I mean, he ranted a little, but who doesn’t? Complaining is healthy, but it wasn’t negative, he wouldn’t badmouth you, I promise!” Quynh assured him. “Not like I complain about my ex.”

This was his chance to make the hints Quynh was dropping into dropping anvils. “Oh, yeah, I heard. I’m so sorry you had to go through that with _her_ , your ex is a bitch, what kind of a grown _woman_ goes after a girl barely out of her teens when she had you?”

Andy’s eyes just about jumped out of her head, then hope loosened her posture. Looks like she hadn’t even considered that Quynh was an option. Like Nicky had with Joe.

Quynh came at Nicky, hugging him. “Thank you. Going from missing her to hating her guts has been very helpful in moving on.”

“Best way to get her out of your head is to find someone better, but it looks like you have.” Nicky pulled back from the embrace, turning them both towards Andy. “Joe said you needed someone with a steady job tied to one place, who doesn’t work in your field, and I can’t think of anything better than someone with a business.” He pointed to Andy. “Has she told you about her garage? I’ve been there a few times with my friend Nile, the work is so interesting, she taught me how to change a tire. A very useful skill, right?”

Andy was looking at him like he had grown a second head then she seemed to catch on to what he was doing. “Yeah, more people should know how to handle their cars, but if they did I’d be out of a job.”

“And how did you get into fixing cars? Is it true the motorcycle is the modern horse the same way the car replaced the carriage?”

As Andy began to explain, he shoved Quynh her way. “I’m sure she’d love to hear all about it, I would too, but I promised Nile I’d hang out with her tonight. Maybe fill me in the next time I come by the Andromachine?”

“Uh, sure?” 

Taking a page out of Father Tony’s book, he smiled at them and loudly, cheerily said, “You two’d make a cute couple, you should double-date with Nile and Sébastien,” before jetting off in Nile’s direction.

That should give Quynh an opportunity to get the point.

When he checked behind him a few minutes later, they were standing closer, Andy’s fair skin flushing pink as Quynh showed her her tattoos.

He couldn’t help smiling, feeling like he’d done something right for once.

Then he bumped into someone hard, and a cold drink spilling over his shirt.

Jumping back, the apology died on his tongue when he met Joe’s eyes.

There Joe stood, wide-eyed and holding a glass of mint-lemonade, different than the last time he saw him. Closer to when they’d first met, clean-shaven and his hair trimmed and styled so it fell around his head in tiny ringlets, a few wet spots on his red gingham shirt, the sleeves rolled up and top buttons open to show an evil eye necklace matching Nicky’s own.

He looked so good, much better than the last time he’d seen him, it made Nicky feel better about coming tonight. Last thing he wanted to do was cause him more pain.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” was his greeting.

Nicky blinked at him, confused. “What?”

Joe raised the glass. “First time we met, you spilled this on me because you weren’t looking where you were going.”

Laughing nervously, Nicky tapped his forehead. “Right, I almost killed your phone. You were expecting a call. Did you get it?”

“Yeah, it was from Quynh, who took our case after our first lawyer dropped us for a bigger deal.” Joe pointed behind Nicky, then tilted his head, frowning at Nicky and Andy. “When did that happen?”

“Just now. I may have played Cupid a little.” That reminded him what he had come here in hope of doing, clearing things up, apologizing, even begging on his knees. 

Nicky had almost forgotten how the mere sight of him made him feel. Too long had he just been in his head, tied to overwhelming feelings, and losing detail and edges, softening to a smooth ideal.

That was what he had to hold on to now. Joe was not an unattainable concept that Nicky had glorified and denied himself of until he’d sabotaged their potential, he was a person with his own failings, quirks, problems and imperfections.

And one of them was the important stuff he left out. “Why didn’t you tell me she was a lesbian?”

Like he had been put on the spot, Joe’s eyes became even wider, putting into context why Sébastien had referred to them as ‘meerkat-eyes’.

Nicky preferred his assessment of cow-eyes, beautiful and kind enough to be used to describe goddesses. 

“I didn’t?” Joe asked in a high-pitched voice.

“No, you didn’t. That little tidbit could have fixed everything on the spot!”

Joe frowned suspiciously. “Really?”

“Would I have gotten the way I did if I knew it literally wasn’t possible for you to be with her in any way?” Nicky got worked up fast, almost angry as he spilled his guts in a small rant. “I spent ages jealous of her, even before I found her in your house, because I thought she was a better fit for you, and what you’d inevitably end up with. You could have saved us so much trouble if you had just told me _why_ she wasn’t ever an option.”

Joe had regained his composure enough to snap, “I don’t know, you seemed to be itching to get away from me.” 

“I wanted distance to get my head on straight, not to demolish what we had,” he said. “Half those times, I wasn’t running away from you just the stress of the situation.”

“Nicky, the day you found out I worked at the shop you literally ran out. You disappeared from the house and didn’t tell me where you were, then you ran from the shop again, and you kept being hot and cold with me. Then you didn’t want to come back with us, and after the misunderstanding with Quynh you wouldn’t even listen to me.” Joe bit out, practically growling. “You ignored me for months.”

“It wasn’t—”

“I swear if you say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ I will dump the rest of this lemonade on you.”

That shut Nicky up long enough for Joe to continue heatedly as he advanced on him, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “It hurt, having you think of me that way. I shouldn’t have had to tell you for you to believe I wouldn’t do that to anyone. What hurt even more is how, after all we talked about, after I told you I was afraid you’d disappear like everyone else did, you still did it yourself!”

“Except unlike everyone else, I didn’t want to leave you. The thought of you cheating on me hurt so much because the more I knew you the more I wanted you.”

Joe wasn’t convinced. “You ran into traffic to get away from me! And now you tell me it was all because I didn’t tell you Quynh likes women?”

“Yes.” His voice came out steadier than he’d expected. “Leaving and avoiding you was because of that, everything else was because I couldn’t handle the stress of the situation without suffering an attack or a setback.”

Joe stopped, finger still pressed against Nicky’s chest. “Why didn’t you just talk to me about it?”

“I don’t know? I think I tried? But I also didn’t want to upset you and have you think I was too much work so you’d end up getting fed up and dropping me?” Nicky felt himself sweat, but he couldn’t stop now. “I can’t deal with discomfort or stress or being upset like I used to. I’m working on it, but it’s hard. I get overwhelmed so easily and all I can think about is either crying or avoiding what’s causing that stress.”

His eyes softened. “Why did our situation stress you out? What did I do?”

“You didn’t really do anything, aside from not explain crucial stuff, and move a lot faster than I was expecting. It just confused me, and made me suspicious and worried, there’s the whole you being too good for me. So, liking me in the first place didn’t make sense, so my only conclusion was that I was a phase for you,” he explained in a rush. “I can’t remember if I’ve said this before?”

“Not in that detail, no.” Joe dropping his hand, sad eyes aimed at Nicky. “You could have told me all that. I spent months thinking I’d been so desperate and tactless that I turned you off and made you run.”

“If you were desperate then what am I?”

“Not here for all the commitment I was throwing at you?” Joe rubbed his arm. “I’ve been upset a while, but I tried thinking of it from your perspective. I was asking too much from you too fast. You can’t just tell a guy whose middle name you don’t know to basically be your daughter’s stepfather.”

“You could have, if you actually said those words and said them a bit later?”

“But you left, you didn’t want to come back.”

Nicky shook his head. “I did, remember? Night of the Great Misunderstanding?” He looked around the party, scanning for leg-high children. “Did she get the lilies?”

“Yeah, she loved them.” Joe sighed. “Keeps asking where and how you are.”

“She does?” Nicky almost gasped, filled with disbelief. “Thought she’d have forgotten me by now.”

“Nicky, you saved her life. She’s never going to forget you.” 

Fighting back the urge to cry, he said, “I, um, have something for you both.”

“Is it more flowers?” Joe scratched behind his head. “Wanna know what she did with the lilies?”

“What?”

“Once they started wilting she got upset and said she wanted to keep them because they were from you, and ‘her flower’ that you named your story after.” Joe smiled, looking down at his feet. “So, we put them in the middle of my dad’s enormous books, pressing them so they can be preserved.” 

“Oh,” he nearly sobbed, choked up. “That’s beautiful, I didn’t think you’d keep them, let alone preserve them.”

“Well, they were all I—we had of you.” Joe cleared his throat, making eye contact. “Said you had something for me?”

Nicky practically shoved the advanced copy of _Stargazer Lily_ vol. 1 at him. “Here.”

“You did it,” Joe said in awe. “Holy shit, you did it.”

Insides in knots, he just nodded, waiting impatiently as Joe examined the front cover of the titular character in white and gold, her cape flying behind her, it’s inside a light violet to match bits of the starry night sky framing her, holding up a sword that shone with the outline of a starburst. Silhouetted behind her, under the crescent moon, was the capital city of the Sun Kingdom, Chamseia, which sat by the sea that linked it and the Lunar Empire.

Joe opened the book, eyes scanning the panels, engrossed.

He stopped and turned the book towards Nicky. “Is this me?”

It was the same image that Sébastien had called him out on, the embodiment of Zahra’s father as the sun on earth, a descendant of the sun god, with the sacred animal as his falcon familiar. 

This was way past the point for him to be embarrassed, this had been an indulgent project from the start. “Yes, it’s you. It’s how I see you.”

His mouth opened slowly, a shuddering breath of disbelief making it out. “I’m the sun?”

“And I’m Icarus.”

“Ouch,” Joe said, grimacing. “How am I supposed to take that?”

Time to backpedal! “I meant it in a cheesy romanticized way! How did you take it?”

Joe looked uncomfortable. “That I made you crash and burn.”

“That is what happened, but it’s more my fault for getting too close when I couldn’t handle it.”

Judging by Joe’s reaction, Nicky really needed to shut up.

To attempt to save this topic, he opted for “I think I’d handle it better now.”

Heart between his ears, he waited for Joe’s response, sweating harder.

“What are you saying?”

A lump formed in his throat. “I’m saying that I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about you some days.”

“Me too.” Nicky pointed to the comic book. “I had it worse, since I spent months working through how much I missed you and Layla by fictionalizing you both.”

“You have my number and address, you could have seen us any time,” he mumbled, thumbing the corner of a page.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see me.”

“Now you know better.”

“So…?” he began hopefully.

“So,” Joe echoed, smiling slightly, a hint of humor to it. “What is your middle name, anyway?”

“Santino. Grandmother’s maiden name was Santini,” he explained. “Do you and your siblings have any?”

“Adam’s was my father’s name, because they didn’t really know middle names were an option earlier. Arabic names typically include the father and grandfather’s names between them the family name. Sometimes great and great-great grandfathers.” Joe turned to point at his sister, who was talking to Caterina. “Jessie is Yasmina Dalia, very floral, very on-brand for women in our family.”

“And what’s yours?”

Joe seemed a little brought down.

“What?”

“Skandar,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Wasn’t that the name your brother was going to give his son?” Then it hit Nicky. “They were going to give their son your name, but reversed.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Youssef Skandar would have been Alexander Youssef, but called Eskandar to match both their moms’ dialects.”

The gruesome thought of Lara being pregnant when she died assailed him. “Both you and Adam put a lot of thought into what you’d name your children. I’m sorry he never got to meet Layla.”

That must have been the worst thing he could have said, because Joe looked like he was going to be sick.

As if summoned, Layla appeared and nearly tackled him to the ground. “Nicky!”

Steadying himself, his arms automatically came around her. “Lily, hi!”

Layla, in a white dress with what looked like swan wings coming out the back, beamed up at him. “Are you feeling better?”

“I am, thank you for asking.” He looked back up to check on Joe, who had schooled his face into a smile, possibly for his daughter’s sake. 

“You’re not contagious anymore, are you?”

That brought Nicky’s attention back down, then up again, frowning at Joe. “What?”

“Daddy said you had a very contagious illness and that’s why you couldn’t come over,” Layla said. 

Visibly embarrassed, Joe mouthed ‘Play along’ before adding, “Yeah, that lake you swam in and caught something super-terrible from when you went on that trip with your family.”

So, this was how he’d explained Nicky ducking out from their lives? 

It was funny, but at least it wasn’t the truth, or any variation of ‘Nicky doesn’t like us anymore’ that would have crushed her. Almost like Joe had left the possibility for his return open in that explanation.

“Right. That illness from that lake,” he said slowly. “It was awful, it took ages for me to feel better.”

“What was in the lake that made you sick?” Layla asked.

“It was polluted, I think. Right, Nicky?” Joe said casually.

“Oh, yeah. Super polluted, companies dumped radioactive waste in it,” he laughed awkwardly, stroking her hair. “Could have gotten superpowers, but nope. I just got sick.”

Seemingly convinced, Layla hugged him tighter. “I’m so glad you feel better.”

She was so sweet, he adored her. 

He knelt to give her a proper hug. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more! Are you going to come over now that you’re better?”

Catching Joe’s eye from over her head, he said, “Am I?”

Joe cleared his throat. “That’s up to you.”

Nicky stood, searching Joe’s face for any tells. “Is it?”

Layla caught onto the mood. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why?” Joe asked her.

“You don’t look happy to see Nicky.”

That felt like a punch to the stomach. 

It was foolish to assume that he could just come explain things and resume their relationship as Sébastien had believed. 

“I am,” Joe assured her. “I’m just tired.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You look sad not tired.” Then she spun, giving Nicky big, sad eyes. “Did you break up?”

It seemed she had taken their silent mutual panic as a _yes_.

“Why?”

He had no choice but to explain. “It’s my fault, I made a mistake and I don’t think your dad can forgive me for it.” 

She turned on her father. “Why? Why can’t you?”

Casting him a conflicted look, Joe knelt, trying to calm her as she had started to fuss. “It’s not that exactly, we were just having some problems and needed time apart until he felt better.”

“And you’re not back together now?”

“No,” he said in defeat.

_“Why?”_ she yelled loud enough to draw several heads their way. 

Joe had no answer for her, and that told Nicky everything he needed to know.

Sébastien had been wrong. Joe didn’t want him back, and Nicky couldn’t blame him.

This time he didn’t run as much as he gave Joe a wave and merged into the crowd, seeking out Nile.

He’d thought he heard his name, but that must have been wishful thinking.

More people had showed up after he and his family did. He couldn’t guess who they were invited by, but didn’t care either. His family had split up and entered conversations with others, he found Flora joining the ever-growing circle of older women that included Nesrine and Patricia, likely unaware of their degrees of separation. Salvatore and Teresa were talking to Sébastien, likely about the fact that they’d all switched careers within the last decade, and Frankie and Bianca were with a few other children that included Robin and Louis. The small selection of young adults had gathered around Jessie and Caterina, who were talking animatedly, either recapping an episode of some show or relating an incident.

Despite the bright color of her dress, it took a few rotations to find Nile, leaning against the wall by the shop door, her sandals under her arm.

“Hey.” He greeted her with a hug. “Been looking for you. Why’re you hiding back here?”

“I needed a break. I was playing hostess with Sébastien for a while now, getting everything set up, and I should have worn comfier footwear, because these—” she raised one sandal. “—are not good for getting around or standing a lot.”

Nicky’s own feet hurt at the sight of the firm, small sandals, their straps and skinny heel. “Why’d you wear them?”

She raised one foot, curling and uncurling her toes, which were painted to the match the dress. “Where else was I going to get the chance to dress up? I’ve had this outfit in the closet for years and was dying to take it out for at least one spin.”

“I see your point.” Nicky leaned next to her, surveying the party. “But great job, everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“Except you.”

He at least tried to look bewildered. “Me? What about me?”

Nile made an exaggerated miserable face. “You’re not exactly chipper.”

“That’s my face,” he said. “I always look like that.”

“I’ve spent enough time with you to know the difference between your resting-face and your sad-face.”

“Okay, fine. I bumped into Joe, literally.” He shamelessly scanned the crowd for him, wondering how Layla was taking the truth. “Sébastien was wrong.”

“That can’t be it, we know for a fact he misses you.”

“Missing me doesn’t mean he’ll forgive me ghosting him, Nile. I think it’s irreparable.”

“Did he say that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh,” she said sadly. “We were certain you’d fix things up tonight.”

“What did you two bet exactly?”

“What we’d name a boy, if we had one,” she said. 

“Can’t believe you two are talking babies this early.”

“Have to be sure we’re on the same page, don’t we? Too many people get married then realize they have different ideas, and become miserable.”

“Like my parents,” he noted. “Who rushed into things and ended up miserable with my mother up and leaving my dad with us—and holy shit, I’m just getting that that’s what I did!” 

He felt the blood flee his face, leaving him cold and clammy. “I felt like we were rushing into the whirlwind romance thing and it was definitely going to end up like my parents and I left before he could leave me.”

“You’re really just realizing that?”

He bumped his shoulder against hers. “It’s not like any of my thoughts were in order, or made much sense. I get that I was being irrational but I couldn’t get over it.”

“If you knew what you were doing was irrational why’d you do it anyway?”

“Same reason I think every noise at night is someone about to break in, rape and murder me, even when I’m certain it’s just the wind or the pipes or the ice-maker. Being reasonable isn’t an option when I’m too busy losing my shit.” He moved his hands up his face, smoothing his hair. “So, what names were you betting?”

“If you showed up, it’d be my dad’s name. If you didn’t, it’d be a middle name, because Bas can’t bring himself to pronounce it the way we do.”

“Can’t you compromise on a French version of his name? What is the French version of Steven anyway?”

“Stéphane. Or Étienne.” 

“Right. Forgot it’s just Stefano but with a V for some reason.” He then frowned a little at her. “Where did Étienne come from?”

“I asked the same thing and he has no idea.” She giggled a little, tired. “Tried making fun of him for stumbling over something as basic as _Stee-vin_ and he dared me to say his mother’s name.”

“Which is?”

She cringed a little before attempting “ _Ah-dae-lah-eede_. Like Adelaide, but with all those accents on top, which make a big difference.”

“Reminds me of my dad complaining about his co-worker calling him Salvador and telling him it’s easier to remember, then he reminded the guy that he named his daughter Nevaeh.”

“…You mean Nineveh? Like the Assyrian city?”

“No, Nevaeh, as in ‘Heaven’ but backwards.”

She snorted loudly. “Oh, man. I remember your Nonna telling me about the names in her daycare and how some people don’t think about the fact that their children will one day be adults, so they give them cutesie names meant for pets.”

“Doesn’t Tommy from the VA have a Pomeranian called Brutus?”

“Think that’s more about irony than lack of foresight.”

“Could be.” It reminded Nicky that he really wanted to get a pet soon. 

A sudden shout broke through the crowd and commanded their full attention. It happened again and people began to move, making away for a few that went about yelling.

Yelling for someone.

Joe emerged before them, panicked as he shouted, “LAYLA!” 

That was all it took for Nicky to fly off the wall and dive through the crowd.

Reaching Joe, he found him frantic. “What happened?”

“Layla, I can’t find her,” he said, eyes wide with fear. “No one knows where she is.”

Nicky’s heart fell into his stomach, dissolving in its acid. “Are you sure? Did you check inside?”

“My dad checked inside, my mom and I searched the space around us, Jessie asked the kids, and Sébastien went to the nearby shops. Where could she be hiding?” Joe gripped his hair, breathing growing erratic. “She knows I don’t think this is funny, I’ve told her so many times to not wander off where none of us can see her. Where is she?”

Though he was beginning to mirror Joe’s crippling panic, he tried to steady himself for their sakes, removing Joe’s hands from his head. “Hey, look, she’s probably in the bathroom or something. Why don’t we just take a breath and search slower this time, we can miss a lot when we’re not thinking straight.”

“We checked inside, she’s not in the bathroom.” He stick his fingers in his mouth, gnawing on his nails. “Where could she be?”

Nicky looked around, more people had started making rounds, calling her name, but no such luck. She must have left the Aubergenie completely.

That filled him with icy terror.

He immediately turned to search, ready to take Nile with him. “I’ll go check around the street. Someone should stay here in case she comes back.”

Joe gripped his arm. “I’m coming with you.”

“Joe, I think you’re too stressed to search, you should stay.”

He shook his head firmly. “No, I need to be there when she’s found. I need to know as soon as possible that she’s okay.”

Nicky had hoped that Joe joining him would make him calmer, but it just riled him up further. They left the Aubergenie and checked the shops next to it, including the alleys in between, calling her name, and there was no sign of her.

While Joe went around questioning people, Nicky had commandeered his phone and opened a group-text of everyone that was at the party to check-in and update, and there was still no sign of her.

They had to go further out in their search.

“We need to separate, I’ll take the left side, you take the right,” Nicky told him.

Joe didn’t respond, he just stood there, breathing loudly.

He touched his shoulder. “Hey, it’s going to be fine.” 

Joe grabbed his hand, shakily whispering, “Do you think someone took her?”

It was very possible, but he couldn’t consider that thought without collapsing into a hopeless pile. He had spent months working on fighting off his tendency to assume the worst and cling to those possible outcomes, and now would be the worst time to relapse.

“No, she has to be here somewhere. Kids do this all the time, I remember Cat once hid under her bed for hours and scared the crap out of us.”

“But why would she do that? She knows not to run off, especially after what happened to you!” he yelled, breathing loud and uneven.

That was when an idea struck Nicky.

“What happened after I left?” he asked. “Like, between me leaving you two and her running off, it had to be at least ten minutes, right? What made her disappear that fast?”

The hand remaining on Nicky’s tightened around his wrist, a few false starts preceded Joe getting out a full sentence. “She was mad at me.”

His mind stalled. “Why?”

“She thinks that we were together and I dumped you and that’s why you left,” he said. 

That made Nicky feel even worse. “Did she think I left the shop? Could she have been looking for me?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“Most of the cars of the people here today weren’t by the shops but in the car-park nearby, she could have gone there to catch me.”

A hint of hope raised Joe’s head, straightening his posture. “Show me.”

Hand still gripped by Joe, Nicky turned and ran, leading him to the car-park, wishing, hoping, praying that he was right.

They reached the area, winded, calling for her. 

“We need to split up, cover more ground and—hey, what?” Nicky found himself stopped and steadied by Joe’s remaining grip on his hand. “Joe, we can’t search if you don’t let go.”

“I can’t.”

Impatience spiked, he needed to find Layla and make sure she was okay as soon as possible. He tried pulling his hand away but Joe’s grip tightened, but he had also began to tremble. “Joe. Joe, you need to try to relax so we can properly search, the sooner we know if she’s here or not the sooner we can leave.”

“I know. I know. But I just don’t want to search alone. I don’t want to be alone right now, I need to find her but I feel like if I can’t I’ll…I’ll.” He pressed Nicky’s hand to his chest, right over his heart, where it pounded worryingly fast. “What if something happened to her?”

“We don’t know if anything did.”

“If it did, it’d be my fault,” he rasped, beginning to cry. “I can’t lose someone else, I can’t, not her, especially her. I’d lose my mind if anything happened. What would I do without her?”

Gently, he touched Joe’s face, urging him to meet his eyes, putting on a brave face for them both. “We’ll find her. But we can’t while you’re like this, so I’m going to need you try calming down as much as possible.”

“How am I supposed to do that when all I can think about is her ending up like my brother or my uncle? What if a car actually hit her this time?”

He was getting worse, spiraling into fears of the worst.

Nicky moved in, pressing their foreheads together as he thumbed the tears off Joe’s cheek. “It’s going to be okay. We just need to actually look here first, okay?”

Joe sobbed, pressing into Nicky’s palm. “I’ve already lost many family members, friends, my brother and you, I can’t afford to lose her.”

“You didn’t lose me. I’m still here.”

“But you keep leaving, I’m afraid that if I let go you’ll vanish too, for good this time.”

“I won’t, not this time, not when Layla’s involved..” Nicky stroked his face, shushing him. “I’ll make you a bet, if we find her, I’ll never run again. I’ll stay as long as you need me to, but only after we find her. Deal?”

He nodded, releasing Nicky’s hand with a sigh. “Deal.”

Parting with a kiss on the cheek, Nicky ran for the stairs. “You take this floor, I’ll check the top one!”

It was a wonder how he hadn’t tripped and landed on his teeth in his hurry to reach the top floor of the parking-lot duplex. It was a wide-space, set aside for the nearby shopping district and outdoor mall, and packed with cars.

Maintaining his calm by reining in enough fear to match Joe’s, Nicky carefully searched as he called, “Layla! It’s Nicky! If you’re here please come out.”

The sound of movement initially skyrocketed his panic, but once that instinct waned and he grappled with his rationality enough to note it was a small sound, he ran towards instead of away from it.

“Layla? Layla!”

Something small and white moved in the distance, coming towards him at a slow, unusual pace. Nicky sped up his walk to a jog then grew impatient enough to launch into a sprint when he realized she was limping.

“LAYLA!”

“Nicky!” She raised her arms and he rushed in, scooping her up before he could come to a standstill, spinning around as he pulled her to his chest, breathing out gasps of relief. 

“Are you okay?” he set her on the trunk of the nearest car, searching her face, committing it to memory to assure his nerves that it was, in fact, her before he could feel any true ease. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

She lifted her skirt to show him her right knee, scraped hard and bleeding. “I heard you calling from somewhere and when I tried to run I tripped and it hurt. It hurts like a burn.”

This was the best he could have hoped for, he really was toying with the horrible idea that she had been hit my a car this time, the possibility made likelier by the darkness and the fact that it was a weekend. “We’ll need to get it disinfected as soon possible. Does anything else hurt?”

She shook her head, holding her arms out to him. He picked her up immediately, arms around his neck, propping her on his hip. “Let’s get out of here then, your dad is worried sick. I mean it, I think he’s going to be sick.”

Layla pressed her face into his neck. “He’s here? He found you?”

“I found him. When he told me you were gone we had to look for you.”

“Together?” she asked, a tad hopeful.

“Yes, together.”

Once they descended the stairs and ventured outside, he called for Joe, who came running out to meet them, holding his phone to his ear.

Just about crying with relief, he ended the call with his mother and threw himself at them, draping them in a bear-hug as he panted out sobs in Nicky’s ear. “I was so scared. I couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened.”

“You can stop that now. She’s here, she’s okay. Grounded until next October, but she’s okay.”

Joe let out a tired, wet laugh as he pulled back, checking on her. “Definitely grounded. I can’t believe you did this, how could you run off like that? Do you have any idea how scared I was?” 

Layla mumbled a small apology.

“I don’t want a sorry, I want you to know just how scary this was for me. Anything could have happened to you, you could have been hurt or kidnapped, and I’d never see you again. Do you understand? You don’t run off like that, ever again, you hear me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Joe calmed, wiping at his eyes. “Why did you do that?” 

“I needed to find Nicky, to tell him you didn’t mean it because I know you miss him,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t want him to leave again, I wanted to get him to stay.”

“How was running out on your own going to achieve that?”

“First time I did that was how he ended up staying with us, I thought it’d work again.”

Joe’s jaw dropped and he faced Nicky with horrified eyes. “I can’t. I can’t believe she just said that.”

“What did I say?” Layla asked.

“That you hoped you could get him hit by another car so he’d come back with us.”

“How else was he going to come back?”

Joe grew even more embarrassed. But all Nicky could do was laugh airily, deflating the tension of this build-up.

Of all the things he’s heard in the past few months, this may have been the most ridiculous. 

Joe reached for her. “Nicky, I’m so sorry. If you didn’t want to see me before, I completely understand if you want that even more now.”

Nicky turned, holding her out of reach. “No! That’s not what I want. I told you that. If anything this just reminded me how much I can’t stand the thought of you—either of you, not being here, in my life, anymore.”

“Even after what just happened?”

“Look, I’m sure in ten years she’s going to look back at this and cringe so hard she cracks a molar. But now? It’s just kid-logic, and we can’t be too mad at her.” Nicky looked down at her, finding her seeming a little too excited. “You’re still grounded though. Can’t have you thinking this is acceptable.”

“Definitely,” Joe agreed. “This is manipulative, and dangerous. You could have ruined all our lives tonight.”

Layla hunched against Nicky, trying to hide her face. “I said I was sorry.”

“We’ll see if you’re truly sorry if you never do this again.” Joe leaned in to kiss her head. “No more leaving without telling me, you understand?”

“Ever?”

Joe frowned at her, trying to look intimidating but it was obvious he was too worn-out to manage that convincingly.

“I think it’s best if you and I don’t your dad anymore scares. It’s not just you, I’ll do the same.” He caught Joe watching him, skeptical. “I meant it when I said if we found her I’d stay as long as you needed.”

“He needs it!” Layla assured him. “Please come back, I promise I’ll never do this again if you do.”

Still embarrassed, Joe looked between them, mouth wobbling between an urge to cry and to smile. “Looks like you’re stuck with us now, Nicky.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“As you saw, we’re both quite the handful.”

Nicky moved closer, pressing their heads together. “Good thing I’ve got two hands then.”

Joe let out a sobbing laugh and pressed in, his breath on Nicky’s face. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Instead of responding, Joe just moved back and took Nicky’s free hand, his left hand, leading him out and away from the parking-lot. 

As they returned to the Aubergenie, finding everyone huddled and waiting for their return, Nicky realized that he truly had them both in his hands now, and he didn’t want to let go. 


	19. Chapter 19

Joe’s family arrived to the front first, Elyes taking Layla from Nicky and squeezing her against his chest while Nesrine alternated between stroking her hair comfortingly and heckling her for running off.

Jessie nearly tackled Nicky with a hug. Initially shocked, he stood there with his arms outstretched past her then carefully lowered his hands onto her back.

Soon Joe peeled her off him and got latched onto instead before she moved back to take her turn fussing over Layla with the newly-arrived Sébastien and Nile.

It was not the best way for Nicky’s family to finally meet Joe’s, in passing, in the midst of lessening panic, but they were at least aware of each other now beyond Jessie and Caterina.

The party ended soon after, with everyone congratulating the owners and heading off into the night.

Joe and Nicky’s families lingered, while Nile’s grandmother had fallen asleep in her chair, sharing her table, and surprisingly getting along, were Patricia, Flora and Nesrine. Nesrine had a taloned grip on Layla’s shoulders, in case she gave them the slip again. Her and Bianca seemed to be having an interesting conversation, lots of gesturing and funny faces. On the table behind them sat Elyes, Salvatore, Frankie and Nile’s brother Michael who talked to Robin mostly, while Frankie showed Louis something on his phone.

Off the to side, Sébastien and Nile discussed something with their sisters, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. An easy, enviable comfort between them.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Nicky asked, leaning against the shop’s fence-wall.

“Us,” said Joe. “Unless you mean most of the guys, then I think my dad and your dad are talking about football.”

“Football?”

“Soccer,” he emphasized. “Dad refuses to call it that though, calls American Football ‘lazy rugby’.”

“Makes sense, the rest of the planet calls it football, because they actually do kick the ball with their feet the entire time,” Nicky agreed. “What team does he support?”

“Aside from the national team every year for the African World Cup? Currently it’s Liverpool.”

Nicky frowned. “Why Liverpool?”

“If we’re being honest, it’s because of Mo Salah, who’s made the entire region proud. I’ve been told he looks like me when I grow out a beard.” Joe stroked his chin. “Is there a resemblance?”

“I see it, but in a general ‘you’re from the same area’ way.”

“Think I should do my hair like him? It has become pretty iconic.”

“I like it the way it is, but what do I know?” Nicky ruffled his own hair, now reaching the middle of his neck. “Still don’t know what to do with my own hair.”

Joe reached for him then stopped, curling his fingers into a fist. “Think it should get a little longer before you go get a cut that frames your head nicely, or at least enjoy having long hair for once.”

“I don’t know, it’s in that annoying stage where it’s too short to pull back.”

“Looks long enough to pull for me.”

Nicky turned to gape at him, finding Joe had sucked his lips in, like he was trying to take back his words. “You know, I can never tell if you’re flirting or if you just talk like that.”

“I don’t know how to flirt, probably why every date I’ve been on was a disaster, and why the only relationships I’ve been in were with girls I already knew as friends or friends of friends,” he said in a breathless rush. “And, well, you.”

“Was what we had even a relationship?”

“It was to me.” Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I told you, I wouldn’t have let just anyone touch me or see me like that.”

He suddenly felt overwhelmed. “Oh. I know, but I’m having a hard time grasping that.”

“That I’m not easy?”

“That I was anything special to you.”

Joe gave him those saddened eyes, reaching for him. “You were. You are.”

Nicky came closer, uncertain of what would happen. “So are you.”

Joe took his hand, thumbing his knuckles. “I—I wasn’t fair to you. Expecting so much without explaining. I tried expressing that earlier.”

Nicky felt himself smile a little. “The middle-name thing?”

“Yeah. I spent so long upset with you, at how you leaving hurt, but after I’d…calmed down, I sat and rethought that time and what could have gotten you to behave that way, and I figured that I was being…” he trailed off. “Tone-deaf? Inconsiderate?”

“Inconsiderate? Are you kidding, you cuddled me so I wouldn’t have nightmares and when I still had one, you ignored me almost breaking your nose and took me to work with you and called Nile so I wouldn’t be alone in that state.” Nicky gripped Joe’s hand, chest too small for his expanding heart. “Do you have any idea how easy it was to fall in love with you being the way you are?”

Joe let out a shuddering gasp. “You’re—you’re in love with me?”

Nicky felt himself flush, but the line had been crossed ages ago. “Have been for a while now. I figured the feeling would fade with distance, but it didn’t. You’re so bright, so intense, you left a permanent mark on me.”

“First the Icarus comparison and now I’m a genie that you can’t touch without getting burned?”

“Genies burn?”

“Yeah, they’re made of fire. It’s why smoke comes out of lamps and bottles they’re trapped in.”

Nicky was amazed and amused at the same time. “I can’t believe I never realized that. It seems so obvious, I’m an idiot.”

“Stop insulting yourself or I swear to God I’ll serenade you with a violin.”

Nicky clapped his hands over his ears. “Spare me! I’ll behave!”

Joe cracked up. “You remembered that.”

“Hard not to, when it was so hard to find one imperfection in you.”

“What’s going to take for you to get that I’m not ‘a catch’?”

“But you are.”

Joe shook his head firmly. “Nicky, I’m a mess. I’m a mess who gets worked up, upset and attached too easily. I have trouble focusing and forget important things but remember random crap. I have no boundaries and act first and think later because I know if I even spend a minute considering what I’m doing I’ll never do anything at all. I’m an anxious extrovert who’s downright intolerable to most and has troubling connecting,” he ranted, panting slightly. “It’s why I latched onto you, and onto anyone I hold more than one conversation with. Because I know everyone I want around either gets fed up with me or dies. And despite me trying my hardest to convince you to stay, overcompensating like an idiot, I scared you off.”

Heads had turned their way, Joe’s voice had spiked in volume, but all Nicky could think of was centering him.

Holding his face gently, he spoke quietly, intently. “I’ll admit, I got scared, but it wasn’t because of you but how fast things went. If we could have gone slower, given me time to process—hey, no. No crying, come on.”

“Can’t help it,” Joe sniffled. “It’s been a tense week, and a stressful night. Some days I feel too intensely and have no control over how I feel and I cry way too easily.” He was already tearing up. “I cry way too damn much, to be honest. I didn’t used to be like this.”

“Think it’s time to get you to bed then, the shop’s open and celebrated, Layla’s fine, and you need to rest now.”

Joe nodded. “You’re right.”

When they turned back to their families, they found almost all the adults watching them, with varying expressions ranging from confusion to relief.

Nicky locked eyes with Nesrine, who wasn’t quite glaring at him but staring intensely, like she was trying to make sense of him. When he smiled, her face softened slightly.

Expressing their exhaustion got everyone bidding each other goodnight, which took about half an hour before they departed for their cars.

“You coming with us?” Layla asked as they walked down the sidewalk, holding onto Jessie and Nesrine’s hands.

Nicky sought out Joe’s eyes and found them hopeful, encouraging him. “I am.”

He had to make sure Joe was okay.

That satisfied Layla enough to keep her quiet til it was her grandparents’ stop.

Jessie gave them all hugs, leaving Nicky with a whisper of “Took you long enough,” before slipping into the backseat.

That left Nicky with Joe’s parents while his family continued chatting with Nile and Sébastien.

Elyes was discussing something with Joe in French before hugging him goodbye, pinching Layla’s cheek before turning to Nicky.

This was the first time he’d faced Joe’s parents since…everything. He was unsure of what he’d be faced with until Elyes caught Nicky in a rib-cracking hug, practically lifting him off his feet.

When he released the bewildered Nicky, Elyes tapped his face fondly. “Good to see you again. I’m relieved my granddaughter has someone else looking out for her.”

Nicky had no idea how to respond beyond a shaky “Thank you, sir.”

That was that, leaving Elyes to head for the driver’s seat and leave Nesrine eyeing them.

She didn’t say anything to Nicky initially, just scrutinized him then let out a defeated sigh she faced her son. “You were serious then.”

“I’m too old to be spiting you, Mama.”

“I know, I know. I just want us to be clear, so I know what to expect from now on.” Nesrine glanced at Nicky. _“Mitakid min ikhtiyarak?”_

“This again? Now?”

There was no push or pull with her now, she just seemed uncertain. _“El-wad’ ikhtalaf. ‘Alashan khaterko ana mosta’eda aqbalo w ‘elaqetko.”_

Nicky took that as his cue to give them space, heading for his family.

Trading hugs and bidding them goodbye, Caterina stopped to ask, “So, what does this mean now?”

“I have no idea, nor any expectations. I just want to make sure they’re fine tonight.”

“Look at you, being mature and selfless.”

He kicked her lightly. “Begone, brat.”

His family departed for their car, leaving him with Nile, Sébastien and the boys, Pierre was snoozing on his uncle’s shoulder and Robin and Louis were slumped on either side of him, drowsy.

“So,” Sébastien began. “Do we know why she did that?”

“She was looking for me,” he explained. “Didn’t want me to go.”

“I’d say ‘aww’, but I lost a few years off my life thanks to that stunt,” Nile said. “And she’s not even related to me, how’d I feel if it were my kid?”

Sébastien made a tired noise. “It takes a lot out of you, the worry. But we’d be terrible people if we didn’t feel this way. If we didn’t think of them first.”

He seemed to be thinking of his nephews’ parents.

They all turned their heads to the left when the sound of Elyes’ car rose then departed. Joe and Layla approached, meeting them by his blue hatchback.

Nile’s first move was to hug Joe then pinch Layla’s cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Ever?” Layla asked.

Nile made the frumpiest, most unamused face Nicky had ever seen, it was almost comical. “You heard me, young lady. Scaring us is not hero-behavior.”

Layla threw herself into a hug and a quiet “Sorry.”

Nile couldn’t maintain the mad face, but she didn’t make it known as she squeezed Layla back with a reprimanding “Say that to your dad.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Pausing his hushed conversation with Sébastien, Joe just aimed an exhausted look down her way.

Layla traded Nile for Nicky, latching onto his leg in case he made a run for it, and they remained that way, with his hand on her back, until Sébastien and Joe departed.

Nile pulled Nicky down into a one-armed hug and left with a kiss on his cheek before linking her arm with Sébastien, who clapped Nicky on the back and left him with “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

And that left the three of them in one car, mostly silent on the way back to Joe’s house.

Once in, Layla seemed to think they would have a long night, making Joe pry her off the couch and carry her to her room. “I don’t think so.”

After making sure she brushed her teeth and got in her pajamas, Joe lifted her up one more time to Nicky. “Say goodnight, Lily.”

“Goodnight, Lily,” Nicky beat her to the joke, ruffling her hair as he pecked her forehead.

“I missed you.” She giggled as Joe dropped her on her bed. “Don’t leave again, okay?”

“Or what?”

She didn’t respond. Joe didn’t give her the chance, turning off the lights and shutting the door.

In the kitchen, he made them jasmine tea and stared off into space as the water boiled and the tea brewed. Nicky was worried.

Joe poured Nicky his cup, mumbling, “Couldn’t have done this without you. Or even guessed where she could have gone.”

“Glad I was there then.”

“Me too.” Joe glanced at him, then set the copy of _Stargazer Lily_ on the table. “I forgot to give this back to you.”

Nicky pushed it back towards him. “It’s yours. I made it for you.”

His mouth formed an O of surprise. “You made it…?”

“Open the first page.”

Slowly, Joe pulled back the cover, baring the dedication.

_To Youssef & Layla Kaisani, _

_Without you this story would have not been possible._

Joe snapped into movement, gripping Nicky’s head and kissing him.

Like a man who’d found an oasis after wandering the desert, Nicky dove into Joe, drinking him in with an all-consuming enthusiasm. It had been so long since he’d touched him, and he’d spent ages of dreaming of having this again.

It would have been too easy to melt into this moment, but then he remembered what had led to it.

Hands against Joe’s chest, he pushed him back gently. “Stop.”

Dazed, Joe blinked at him. “Why?”

“You don’t want this.”

Puzzled, he remained holding Nicky’s head. “You must have super-selective hearing because I do. You know I do, I told you so.”

“But back at the party you didn’t. I don’t blame you, but claiming otherwise now is just making me feel like you’re making yourself do this.”

“I don’t do anything I don’t have to or want to do.”

Nicky licked his lips, looking from Joe’s mouth to his shining eyes. “Just so we’re on the same page, are you kissing me because you’re flattered, because you’re wound up and in need of release, or are you thanking me?”

“Can’t it be all those and me wanting you at the same time? Despite my ADHD, I’m capable of multi-tasking.” Joe softly played with his hair, rolling a lock between his fingers. “Back at the party, all I wanted to do was grab and kiss you. But I was still felt hurt and scared, and I felt like if I did you’d run off again.”

“Told you I wouldn’t. I’m in a better headspace now, not great, not what I was before, but better than where I was this time last year, or even when we were here the first time,” Nicky had begun to ramble. “My point is, I’m not confused about how I feel or what I want because I’ve had a lot of time to process and think, and I’ve been working on dealing with stuff with help.”

“That’s great, you seem better, you look healthier.” He stroked Nicky’s hair, pushing it off his face. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. I’m proud of you.”

Hearing that made Nicky more confident. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“So…?”

“So, how do you feel?”

“Honestly? Not too good, I was already on edge and this little stunt fried my nerves, and all I can think about is how I could have lost her like I did her parents,” Joe said, sounding like he was running out of air.

Her— _her parents?_

Nicky felt like he’d missed a step and tumbled down the stairs, reaching the end in disarray. As he put himself and his thoughts together, half of what he knew was put back but in a different place from before.

It should have been something he’d at least suspected, especially after seeing pictures of Joe’s sister-in-law. But now that he truly considered it, Layla did look like the result of Adam and Lara.

“Holy shit, that’s why you never explained how you ended up being a single dad! Because she’s your—” he caught himself before he could finish that sentence.

Horror filled Joe’s eyes as he spluttered, “Please don’t tell her. She can’t know, not yet. I know it’s terrible that I’m lying to her and everyone about being her dad, but I couldn’t have her grow up feeling like a burden, like she was an orphan, or…or…”

“Hey, hey, calm down. I’d never do that, that’s not just an asshole thing to do but I know what kind of impact that truth had,” he assured him hurriedly. “Some days, I wished my dad had told us our mother was lost at sea, instead that she had just fucked off back across the Atlantic because she thought this life was a mistake.”

Tearing up, Joe let out a disbelieving laugh. “That’s horrible, but I see your point. I just know that the truth would devastate her before she’d old enough to handle it, so please don’t tell her or anyone.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Nicky felt an odd sense of relief at this revelation, which was awful considering the circumstances that had led to Joe adopting Layla. “You’re not lying.”

“What?”

“You’re not lying about being her dad, you named her, you raised her, you love her more than anything, you’re her parent. That makes you her dad.”

He seemed to have lost control over his face, eyes pouring out tears, mouth unsteady, nose sniffling. “Sometimes I feel like such a fraud, that I’m replacing Adam, that I should have just done what Sébastien did and told her I was her uncle, but I couldn’t. I enjoy being her father too much to let that go.”

“You’re not replacing him, you raised and loved her as your own and that’s what he would have wanted for his child, I know it’s what I would want,” Nicky said softly, wiping Joe’s tears away with his thumbs. “You’re a great baker, father and friend, I know that much, if my view counts for anything.”

“It does. You have no idea how much it does.” Joe stroked his face with the back of his fingers. “I’m going to kiss you again, because I want to.”

“Okay.”

They met halfway in a soft, tentative kiss that turned into two, three, then Nicky had lost count as the passion rose.

Before Nicky could lose himself in Joe, something jumped up over the top counter, scaring him.

Sitting on the counter above the sink, watching them with curious green eyes, was an orange tabby.

“Hi there, where did you come from?”

Joe reached out to pet the cat’s head. “This is Mishmish, he’s been here for a few months.”

“Months? When did you get him, right after I left?”

“Well, yeah. The impulsiveness gets worse when I’m upset, so, I went to the shelter and picked the friendliest cat I could find. Didn’t even think too much about it until I realized I hated the name he came with. It didn’t suit him.”

Nicky joined Joe, petting Mishmish, who reveled in the attention, eyes closed in contentment, purring. “What was it? Where did you get Mishmish from then?”

“Mr. Tibbles,” Joe said distastefully. “Started calling him Mishmish because he’s the color of apricots and it stuck.”

“That’s adorable.” Nicky moved to scratching under his chin. “At least one good thing came out of that time.”

“About that.” Joe caught Nicky’s hand, regaining his attention. “We talked about that time, can we talk about now?”

“Now, I’m staying the night. After? I don’t know.” Nicky squeezed Joe’s hand, seeking out his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘now’?”

“Where we go form here.”

“Your room, to sleep.”

“After that, I want you to stay.” Joe began. “I want us to try to do things right this time, because I feel like we had the potential to be something great but it was squandered.”

“I feel like we met at the wrong time.”

“It does feel like it. I don’t think I can handle you walking away again but I don’t want to lose out on being with you at all.” He held Nicky’s hand up to his face, kissing it. “Just, if either of you run off next time, at least leave behind a glass slipper.”

“Will do. But after knowing what missing you is like, I won’t be leaving any time soon.”

“Good. You wouldn’t believe how much I missed how, how often I think of you.”

“Same,” was all Nicky could say, enraptured by the look Joe was giving him. “When do you think of me?”

“At many points, in many ways.” He smirked at him. “I missed how you felt, I got something to fill the void, but it’s not the same.”

Nicky couldn’t believe how they’d gone from quiet sentimentality to an intense revelation and tears, and now Joe was telling him this.

“So, if I tell you to go fuck yourself, do I get to watch?”

Joe laughed so hard and so suddenly, tears sprung back out his eyes. Just like he'd said when he found out Nicky snorted. “Just watch?”

“To start.”

“But not tonight?”

“Probably not a good idea, no. Plus, we’re both too tired.”

“That I am, so…” He jerked his head back. “Bed?”

Tea drunk, cat fed, clothes changed, they arranged themselves in the bed as they had before, Joe spooning Nicky, but they didn’t sleep immediately.

A goodnight kiss just kept going.

It was hard to be coherent while Joe kissed along his jaw. “So, just to be clear, what are we doing?”

“Starting over, doing things the way we should have the first time.”

“So, we’re together?”

“I hope so.”

He turned his head, nuzzling Joe’s nose. “Then we are.”

Joe kissed his cheek then went for his mouth. “I love you.”

That was what he’d wanted to hear the most, but that didn’t make it any less shocking to hear. It took a few minutes to sink in. It wasn’t something he ever expected to hear, not just from Joe, but any guy.

“I love you too. So much.”

That didn’t cool them down, Joe was practically on top of him and Nicky’s hands were in his hair.

In between kisses, the unexpected success of the situation finally registered with him, that he’d started the night on one trajectory and ended up on another, on what he’d hoped for.

“Joe,” he said, slowing the kisses. “Hey, Joe?”

Joe hummed questioningly, still pursuing his lips.

“Joe, did we just get _Parent Trap_ -ed?”

That dumped a bucket of cold water on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nesrine says _"Are you certain of your choice?"_ then _"The situation has changed. For your sakes, I'm ready to accept your relationship."_


	20. Chapter 20

If Layla was an evil mastermind in the making, she showed so sign of it as she danced in her seat, reading through the first book in the _Stargazer Lily_ series. Her commentary was limited to excited squeaks, gasps and turning the book to face her family as she tapped certain panels.

While Nesrine and Joe were in the kitchen, discussing who knew what in a barely-noticeable mix of Arabic and English. Elyes read the story from over Layla’s shoulder, sipping his milk-tea, glasses halfway down his nose while Jessie grilled Nicky about the publishing industry.

Still in Joe’s pajamas, Nicky was stuck to his seat by Mishmish, who had claimed his lap, purring softly.

After he’d explained what a slush-pile was, Nicky leaned in to whisper, “Can I ask what your mom is saying?”

Jessie glanced out of the dining room towards the kitchen. “She’s mostly asking him questions then offering up the answers herself.”

“What questions?”

Embarrassment he didn’t think her capable of showed itself. “Asked a few invasive ones about your mental health because your grandma told her you went to therapy, then told him to get you both tested. Now she’s asking about children and I think she offered up one of my eggs for you fertilize.”

Nicky froze, once he ceased petting Mishmish the purring volume dropped. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

Jessie shrugged, cutting up her little pancakes. “If I’m doing that for you guys then they’ll have no choice but to pay for me to pursue my dream-job of being an editor. Or they can pay Cat to give an egg to Joe, or it can go both ways for two kids.” She ate a piece, talking mid-chew. “It’s a win-win.”

To assure himself that the seriousness of this topic wouldn’t make him bolt, Nicky firmly planted his feet to the floor. “Wouldn’t it be kind of odd, each of us pretty much raising the other’s niece or nephew?”

Jessie made a quick glance at Layla. “Wouldn’t be a first.”

That reminder snuffed out any reservations he had about the idea.

Watching Layla’s giddy joy at the story he’d made for her, he felt the goofy smile rise back up on his face. “Want any girls named after you then?”

Despite the knowing smirk—which made Nicky wonder if her and Caterina had had a bet about his reaction—Jessie was not up for that idea. “Please don’t, I hate my name, it sounds like an insult.”

“…Context?”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “In Arabic, _‘ya thamina’_ basically means ‘hey fatty’ and in my mom’s accent _‘ya thamina’_ becomes _ya smina_.” She gestured with her fork. “Our cousin on our dad’s side pointed it out when I was six and I’ve been mad ever since.”

“Egyptians pronounce the Th as an S?” was all Nicky gathered.

“Yep, it’s like a reverse-lisp.” She pointed her fork at her father. “Once my grandma—dad’s mom—tried to make fun of how my mom spoke, then my mom told her _‘what right do you have to mock my dialect when a third of yours is mangled French and Italian words, also you eat half your vowels and randomly pronounce the Q as a G’_.”

Nicky hissed, like he had been burned. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, don’t get clever with my mom, she’ll bite your head off.”

Nicky did not doubt that one bit. “Joe told me that some dialects sound like different languages, is that true for your parents?”

“Eh, when they speak Arabic they don’t sound _that_ different.” She stopped, snorting. “Oddly enough, my dad doesn’t understand the Lebanese or Saudis at all, but my mom does, no problem. But when we were in Morocco last December she had to speak French the entire time because she didn’t understand anything they said otherwise.”

“This is so interesting. What about you, who’s easiest for you to get?”

She ate another bite, considering her answer. “Like, I get both my parents’ people, but rest of the people in North Africa? Not so much. To an extent the Lebanese and Syrians I get, because we knew a lot of them growing up, but dude, they sound so funny.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, they don’t stress on anything, it’s all very soft and fluid, it’s like—do you know what the Irish sound like? It’s kind of like that. But apart from them, I don’t understand most Arabs. Or Iraqis. Joe had an Iraqi friend and I didn’t understand a word she said to her family.”

“Because Suzanne was Kurdish.” Joe had rejoined them, setting a fresh plate of waffles before them. “And she’d kill you if you called her an Arab, she didn’t even speak Arabic.”

“Then what did she speak?”

Joe stared at her confusedly. “Kurdish.”

“Yeah, what is that?”

“She said it was ‘Persian’s cousin’.”

Jessie stopped to think. “Oh, yeah, she did look kinda Persian, had those huge eyes and sour-milk skin and everything.”

Nesrine came to stand by her, peering at the comic. “Some of them West Asians are unnaturally pale, they look like corpses.”

_“Mama,”_ Joe said, reprimanding.

“What? I had to deal with all those fair-skinned Turkish and Arab girls at school calling me dark and ugly, it’s my right to compare them to the dead.” Nesrine’s eyes landed on Nicky. “Not you, dear. Though you are the pinkest Italian I’ve ever seen, I didn’t think you came in that color.”

It was hard not to giggle at that. “No?”

Nesrine shrugged. “Most of the ones I met looked like us. Though the barbarian Germans did invade Italy did what the Turks did to Greece and the Middle East and who knows how many women they—”

Joe clapped loudly, no doubt cutting her off before they had to explain to Layla what _rape_ meant. “Okay, that’s enough talking about people’s looks! Everyone looks they way do due to evolving in some environment or climate, and that’s beautiful. Shouldn’t you be off now?”

Jessie giggled behind her hand while Nesrine appeared miffed at being cut off. “I was making conversation.”

“You were about to make some very upsetting suggestions.”

“No, she’s right, the Lombards did invade Italy. There’s a lot of medieval art comparing them to snails, it’s pretty funny.”

As he stood, Elyes’ mouth slowly opened as he let out an “Ohhh!” of realization. “So that’s why there are all those manuscripts depicting knights fighting snails?”

“Yep, it was a running joke that started about the Lombards being an invasive species then it spread from there and got used for a bunch of other reasons, and we didn’t know why until recently.”

“So, it was a meme?” Jessie asked, reaching over to pick Mishmish off his lap, releasing him and his cramping back from the chair.

He stood, stretching. “Basically.”

It seemed that Nicky had given Elyes a new historical topic to do a deep-dive into. “I must look into this when we’re home!”

By the door, Jessie and Elyes picked up Layla’s things for the weekend and headed out with quick goodbyes, Layla gave Nicky and her father squeezing hugs and parted with a “You better be here when I get back!”

That left Nesrine on the doorstep with Nicky and Joe. “Will you, in fact, be here now?”

Nicky rolled his shoulder. “For as long as they’ll have me.”

She narrowed her eyes, not liking his answer. “So, you’re here for good now?”

The finality of such a decision this soon, plus the talk of how they’d have children, still made Nicky uneasy, but this was what he wanted. He wanted this life with Joe and Layla.

“Yes, I am.”

Seemingly pleased with this response, she nodded. “That better be true, I will not have Joe behaving like the people here, confusing their children by having them get attached to partners that vanish from their lives.”

Joe slowly grinned. “Are you saying you want us to get married?”

The idea didn’t seem to strike her at first, but as she slipped on her sunglasses she said. “It’s legal here, so why not? It was embarrassing enough having to spend years calling Lara ‘my son’s girlfriend’ like they were in grade school instead of living together.”

This was going far better than Nicky could have hoped.

“If you say so,” was all Nicky could say, moving in for a hug.

She responded somewhat stiffly, patting his back but had loosened up by the time he made way for Joe. As she headed down to her car, she waved.

When they shut the door Joe let out a long breath, practically whistling as he deflated. “That went well. Very well.”

“That it did. What did you tell her yesterday that made her change her mind?”

“You mean what she said before you left us?” Joe asked, to which Nicky nodded. “Asked if I was certain of my choice, said things were different now and that she was ready to accept you and our relationship. Then the fact that you pretty much saved Layla twice changes everything.”

Nicky felt his face heat up. “Pretty sure I’d willingly get run over by a train for her, and I’d only do that for my sister.”

“That’s how I feel.” Joe tilted Nicky’s face up by his chin and gave him a slow, chaste kiss. “So, what’s next for us?”

“Dinner with my family next week because Nonna wants to give you a shovel-talk.”

Joe gave him a cautiously intrigued look as they left the entryway. “With an actual shovel?”

“With a shotgun, but she’s more likely to whack you with it.”

“Who would she shoot at?”

“Keane. Told me she wanted to smatter his brains after Catia told her about the incident at your shop.”

Washing the breakfast dishes, Joe made a disgusted face. “He showed up again, tried to intimidate me and went on about how he had nothing left to lose so he would mess me up.”

Nicky nearly dropped the dish he was replacing. “Holy shit, what happened? What do you mean ‘nothing to lose’?”

Joe winked at him. “Sébastien has some connections, reported Keane for harassment and stalking, then he got Nile to sniff out if anyone from VA had worked with him and got a bunch of testimonies about him being shady, possibly being a double-agent when you were over there, and his connection with Merrick, who definitely had illegal dealings abroad.” Joe finished the washing, drying his hands. “Long story short, it was a minor scandal that got him fired and, to avoid a bigger scandal, Merrick himself was suspended from his position by his father in favor for his younger cousin and he blames Keane for that. So, it’s unlikely either of them will ever bother us again.”

“You sure? I buy his boss not caring, but Keane himself?”

Smugness was a good look on him. “I made my own harassment report, so we have a restraining order. He comes near the shop or us, he’s getting arrested. He’s already being investigated last I checked for possibly sabotaging his unit, leading them to ambushes or spaces with hidden explosives.”

Nicky couldn’t believe what he was hearing, confirmation for his suspicions and the possibility of punishment. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Joe came closer, damp hands on Nicky’s sides. “He may have said some racist things that made me punch him in the mouth, then he really started asking for it.”

“What did he do?”

He tried shrugging it off, but Nicky caught a handful of his hair, making him meet his eyes. “Tell me.”

Joe’s features tightened with anger. “Like last time, he tried to convince me you were crazy and he was the victim. Shot himself in the foot pretty quickly by insulting you.”

Nicky stiffened with climbing horror. “What did he say about me?”

Joe shook his head. “I’d rather not, it was disgusting.”

“Just tell me.”

It looked to pain him. “That just because you let me fuck your face didn’t mean I could forget you were fucked in the head.”

Nicky flashed back to the months-long misunderstanding of a similar description driving him mad. It was like Keane knew exactly what would mess him up, like the association could have started from a memory that included him that Nicky had repressed.

It would explain why his nightmares contained Keane shooting his brains out.

“I knocked his lights out,” Joe said. “It felt pretty good.”

“Shame you couldn’t do worse.”

“If I could, I’d have snapped his neck.”

That was an image Nicky would love to focus on. “You can if you want. Do what he said.”

Joe frowned a little. “Snap his neck?”

Nicky raised one of Joe’s hands and slowly put two fingers in his mouth while maintaining eye contact the entire time.

After winding him up, his glassy eyes and heavy breathing made Nicky feel a swell of pride. Nicky, not anyone else, had that effect on him.

Pinning Joe to the island, he felt hands grab his ass then move up his back until they gripped his hair, pulling him into a messy kiss filled with uncoordinated enthusiasm. Nicky moved from his mouth and down his neck as he pushed his T-shirt up and kissed down his chest, reveling in how easily affected he was, breathing and moaning loudly.

Descending to his knees, he pulled down the remainder of Joe’s clothes in one go and waited.

“Go on,” he said in a low voice. “Do it.”

Joe trembled, torn between being horny and hesitant. He was a vision, standing above him, already shining with sweat, lips full and flushed, a god for him to worship on his knees. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He thumbed his hipbones. “You won’t, I trust you.”

With a breathless sob, he tightened his grip on Nicky’s hair and thrusted in.

Nicky would be lying if he said his jaw wasn’t killing him, and that breathing entirely through his nose while he wanted to pant wasn’t troubling, but the weight on his tongue and the sounds he inspired made his brain turn to mush, filling his blood with a soothing buzz.

Joe’s pace sped up fast, desperately humping his face, head thrown back, sweat traveling down his neck. His legs shook as he grew louder and Nicky swallowed without thinking, choking around him.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Joe pulled him up, out of breath and practically washed his face for him, profusely apologizing. “I’m so, so sorry. This what what I was afraid of.”

Nicky coughed, waving him off as he washed his face and mouth.

Joe leaned by him, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, wearing an involuntary smile of contentment. “Give me a minute and you can do the same.”

“I was thinking of something else, been on my mind since before we went to bed.”

“Anything you want.”

Nicky wiped his face with his shirt before taking it off. “Anything?”

Joe licked his lips. “Within reason. Nothing gross or demeaning for either of us.”

“Does defiling the kitchen count as gross?”

Excitement reflected in his eyes. “You want to…here?”

“Watching you cook and bake is an experience, and all I can think about is how much I want to bend you over a counter.”

Grinning, Joe ran to his room. “Hold that thought.”

It didn’t take much for Joe to be ready for a second round, between making out and painstakingly preparing him, he grew more impatient than Nicky. “Get on with it!”

“Just let me get this on.”

Joe reached back, gripping his wrist. “No, wait. I want to know what it’s like.”

Nicky’s arousal may have spiked at the thought, but worry overpowered it. He stuttered, “You sure?”

Joe nodded. “I haven’t been with anyone but you in years and I get tested every check-up, in case I pick something up from a public toilet or anything. You?”

“Got tested when I got back and after we…broke up. I got paranoid about you being with God knows how many women and needed to be sure.” He felt embarrassed about that of all things. “Sorry.”

“I get it, we got got past that, it’s okay.” Joe pecked him, quick, affectionate. “So, what’s the problem?”

“Nothing, I just never did that before. I didn’t trust anyone, even the guys I knew for years.” He returned the kiss. “But I trust you.”

He felt Joe smile against his lips. “That makes it even better, a first for the both of us.”

“But you’ve done this yourself before, right?”

“No, I could never bring myself to, even if I knew she was clean and on birth control. It felt too serious, too close, like they weren’t worth it.”

He calmed, pressing himself against Joe. “It was more about safety than sentiment for me, but it should have been that too. I should have put my feelings over their desires, but I withstood a lot of crap just to be touched.”

“None of them deserved you. You should be treated with care and reverence, to have a space, not just in your arms, but your heart is an honor, and I will treat your mind and body like sacred spaces.” Joe said heatedly. “I will worship you like our ancestors did their gods.”

Nicky sighed dreamily, feeling almost giddy. “If only I had your way with words, and didn’t manage to insult you when I compared you to a god.”

“You didn’t insult me, but yourself. Comparing me to the sun and yourself to Icarus is not right, or true. If I’m the sun, then you’re the moon, something whose beauty is timeless and has been beloved by millions for millennia just as much as the sun, if not more in my case.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush.”

Joe gave him a teasing grin. “You’re saying that like what we just did doesn’t?”

He shook his head. “That’s different, it can be impersonal, purely lustful. But what you’re saying to me is so loving I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Then I’ll tell you what to do.” Joe turned back around, resting against the island as he looked at Nicky from over his shoulder. “I want you as close as possible, I want to feel you, I want you to feel me in ways no one else ever has.”

Close to losing his mind with how much he wanted this, Nicky slowly pressed in, mouth at his ear. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“I won’t,” he gritted out, strained. “Now move.”

He obeyed, letting himself get lost in the fulfilled fantasy, bending Joe further down before him as he picked up a rhythm that wrung maddening noises from him. Watching the sweat pour down his broad back, the muscles rise and fall with his breathing, Nicky was hypnotized. Caught up in the intense feeling, of giving and receiving pleasure, the thrill of a new, almost forbidden sensation that made his toes curl and his eyes shut. He felt euphoric.

A part of it scared him, what it embodied. A threshold neither of them had crossed, with nothing truly between them, a point of no return emphasizing just how serious and intense this was.

Sounds of their breathing, moaning and groaning echoed around them, encouraging him to move faster, grip harder as he panted everything that came to mind in Joe’s ear. Half of it was everything he felt, the rest was repetitive praise and shameless declarations.

At some point, Joe had reached back, grabbing Nicky’s head, back bowed to meet him in a kiss and Nicky’s rhythm stuttered, going harder as their tongues brushed.

Then Joe screamed into his mouth and tightened around him, he couldn’t last long after that.

Collapsing over the counter, heaving and slippery with sweat, they rested there until the feeling returned to Nicky’s legs.

Peeling himself off Joe’s back, his mind was quiet save for the buzz of satisfaction and disbelief at what had happened, not just now but since yesterday. He’d never thought they’d be friends again, let alone in a committed relationship.

It almost didn’t feel real.

Joe wrapped his arms around his neck, bringing their foreheads together, breathing heavily. “God, I love you.”

Hearing that made his heart beat faster. “That good, huh?”

“Mhm, you might need to carry me to the shower now because I can barely stay upright.”

Without a thought, Nicky picked him up, hands gripping his thighs as his legs wrapped around his waist and he headed to the bedroom with Joe’s amazed laughter filling the house.

When he set him down before the shower, feeling positively mindless and single-minded in his urge to continue pleasing him, he barely registered why Joe was so amused.

“What?”

“I was joking, but now I think I discovered a new turn-on.” He practically purred at him. “Think you can throw me over your shoulder?”

“That was probably a little risky, so maybe wait until I start lifting harder at the gym then we can test that out.”

Joe led him under the hot water by his wrist. “Want to know how much I weigh, just to help you read your goal?”

“Why, so I can practice using you?”

“Now there’s an idea.”

It didn’t matter that they had just finished, it was hard to keep their hands or mouths off each other, and it took the water turning to a freezing waterfall for them to stop.

After they’d thoroughly cooled and dried off, they ended up in Joe’s office, where he showed him pictures he kept to himself.

Nicky flipped through an album with a heavy heart, seeing so much of Layla in clear photos of Lara and Adam Kaisani. Layla had her mother’s coloring but with slightly darker skin and curly hair, she had Adam’s facial structure, and it was too early to tell whose nose and brows she had, likely Nesrine’s. There was one of her birth, where the family gathered around Lara’s hospital bed, the newborn Layla in her arms, Adam sitting by her on the bed, Jessie on her toes to fit into the frame, Nesrine appeared to be crying, Elyes was leaning over, forgetting the camera in favor of cooing over the newborn.

And Joe was looking down at her in awe and adoration, an instant love.

“Where’s Lara’s family?” he asked.

“Her parents are gone, father died when she was fifteen and her mother a little before she married Adam.” Joe pointed to a wedding photo, where Lara was worryingly thin, her dress two sizes too big. “It’s why she looked like that, losing Nadia was sudden and scary. It’s a wonder they went through with the wedding with her so upset.”

Nicky had to turn the page, the picture of what should have been a happy day upsetting him. He landed on one inside the Aubergenie, on either side of the picture were the proud co-owners, Joe’s hair was shorter and shaved at the sides and Sébastien’s was past his ears and blonder. A two year-old Layla and Louis sat on the counter between them, while a five year-old Robin made a sour face in the middle. Back when all they’d had was each other.

“What about the rest of her family?”

“Her brother Timur’s in Dubai, visits once a year. To avoid confusion, he’s told his wife and kids that Lara was married to me. Her mother’s relatives are still in Egypt, but they were never close, and her father’s are in Russia, probably unaware she ever had a child.” Joe set Mishmish down on the desk and dug through the drawers. “I checked before I adopted her, I didn’t stake my claim on Lily and cut out half her family.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that, I just wondered.” Nicky ran his fingertips over a picture that had to be after Adam and Lara passed, of a younger, paler Joe with sunken eyes and cheeks, holding a toddler to his chest, barely cracking a smile. “My mom’s side of the family never tried looking for us, it’s not like that’s hard these days, I wonder if I’m missing out on anything, or if I’m better off.”

Joe touched his face, commanding his attention. “If they’re anything like you’re mother then they’re not worth knowing. They’re missing out, not you.”

Nicky pressed his cheek into Joe’s palm. “You’ve got to stop saying such sweet things to me or I swear I’ll fall in love with you.”

“Guess I better name all the items in my shop.”

“Can’t tell if that’s corny or a dad joke.”

He tickled under Nicky’s chin. “Does it matter? You clearly think it’s funny.”

“Or I’m just laughing because you’re attractive and it makes me nervous.” Nicky ducked his head, avoiding the tickling fingers. “Can’t believe I got you, that you want me enough to do all this for me.”

“You make it sound like I’m a prize, and what am I sacrificing exactly?”

“Coming out to your parents, ruining Keane’s life, telling me how you became Layla’s dad, forgiving me for ghosting you, choosing to be with me and acting like I’m attractive, and letting me live out one of my fantasies in your kitchen.”

“In order: it was something I wanted to do at some point, I just now had a reason to. He deserved far worse than what we did to him. You’re a part of our life now, you need to know the truth, and we established that it was a bad time full of bad decisions, and I’ve wanted you in every way for a while now.” Joe pressed something into his hands, an old ring-binder sketchpad. “Take a look.”

Nicky found himself flipping through a series of sketches, calligraphy practice and patterns, some in pencil, others in ink, and all baring a keen eye for detail and inborn instinct for measurements and symmetry. Many sketches were of faces, profiles mostly, or designs for baked goods or sweets, everything from the pile of rhombus-shaped baklava to the half-moon samosas with crimped edges, and what looked to be initials-based concepts for the Aubergenie’s logo with attempts to set Latin letters in the Arabic style of calligraphy.

Then he turned the page with a recent date and found his own profile, back when his hair was short and the circles under his eyes were darker. This had to be before he got hit by the car.

“Did you draw this after the night we talked?”

“I did. I couldn’t get you out of my head.” He turned the page for Nicky, showing another of him looking down, pensive. Another turn unveiled a sketch of him asleep on his side, with a wrinkled sheet covering his naked body. When was that?

The last was a close-up of the top half of his face, a loving amount of detail into his brows, the shading of his irises and the circles under his eyes.

[ ](https://ibb.co/2hDxkC9)

In awe, he traced the circles with his finger. “Wish you would have left those out, they ruin your work. It didn’t help that I looked even worse back then.”

“I like them, I like your face in general even if it’s a little tired, just as I like all phases of the Moon.”

Nicky snorted. “Guess that makes my eye-bags the craters.”

“If my flyaway hairs and frizz get to be the sun’s rays then yes, your under-eyes are craters, and I love that.”

“Us seeing each other as natural light-sources?”

“Us romanticizing each other.” Joe set aside the sketchpad and focused on Nicky, smile lines and dimples out in full force. “The way you see me, how you drew me in those pages immortalized me as the sun, and I want nothing more than to do the same for you.” He cupped his face, tenderly thumbing his lips and cheekbones. “To express the pull you’ve had on me since I looked into your eyes, how I’m at your mercy like the tide, how you leaving me could make me lose my mind and wander the earth chasing your light until I drop.” His eyes were full of such overwhelming love, that Nicky forgot how to breathe. “Now I know why they called madmen ‘lunatics’ and why Qays lost his mind and will to live when he couldn’t have a woman who was named for the night.”

“Are you reading _Majnoun Layla_ as the _Night’s Madman_?”

“The same way you read Icarus’ hubris as him having a tragic love for Helios,” Joe confirmed.

“If I’m Icarus, then you’re Qays, if I’m a sun-worshipper ready to go down in flames then you’re a lunatic, howling at the moon, then what’s not a tragic outcome for us?”

“That’s a parallel for us to create, to be given live represented in your story by Mounir and Romolo,” Joe said. “But until then, what can I do to show you as the brightest part of the night sky, outshining the stars?”

Nicky was almost speechless, close to tears. “Write down that effortless poetry you say to me before you forget it, immortalize me that way, as Dante did Beatrice.”

_“Min ‘einaya, ya habib albi. Hobi lak yosh’el alaf al-shomous wah yoneir samat al-sabah, la inak amar layali aladhi yaksif kol al-nojoum bijamalo.”_

“I bet it’s meaning is more beautiful than it sounds.”

Ears turning red, dimples deepening with bashfulness, Joe said, _“For you I’d give anything, up to my eyes, dearest to my heart. My love for you fuels a thousand suns and lights the morning sky, because you are the moon of all my nights, whose beauty puts the stars to shame.”_

“Oh, you’ve done it now. I warned you but it’s too late, I’m deeply in love with you.” Nicky gazed at him, enraptured. “I can’t speak as well as I can draw, but I know how I’d describe my feelings for you.”

“How?”

_“L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stelle,”_ Nicky quoted. _“Love that moves the sun and other stars.”_

“Pretty celestial theme we’ve got going there. Guess you could say we’re out of this world.”

The gooey, starry-eyed mood was disrupted by Nicky laughing so hard and so suddenly that he snorted. “That’s terrible, how can you be such a poet and such a cheesy dork at the same time?”

“The duality of man.” Joe stuck out the tip of his tongue. “Also, I love your laugh, I’ll do whatever I can to keep hearing it.”

Nicky moved in to kiss him. “You’re an incurable romantic.”

They spent the rest of the weekend in a delightful haze, relearning each other with in-depth conversations, honest answers and tests of comfort and trust.

At night, they explored one another with fingertips and tongues, exchanging sighs and gasps, and fell asleep wrapped up in each other, confident that they were going to be here when the other woke.

It was more than he could have dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	21. Epilogue

A lot could happen in a year, let alone five, even if it all seemed to move at a snail’s pace.

After six months of proper dating, spending weekends, and alternating family dinners, Nicky officially moved in with Layla and Joe and turned one of the second-floor rooms into his office. Jessie moved into his vacated space, and after spending some time with Sébastien, Caterina switched her major to management with sights on running one of the Aubergenie shops.

While settling into the domesticity was scarily seamless, Nicky still had his bad days, and so did Joe. Therapy, exercise and meetings could only do so much, and some days he didn’t want to do any of them, didn’t even want to kiss Joe back, or smile at Layla. But that was okay, it came and went, and if he was not getting better he was at least maintaining his position, not getting worse.

He’d be lying if he said there were no setbacks, no bad days or conflict, but it usually got resolved quickly. They didn’t like to dwell or push, and they’d made a deal to talk about whatever bothered them.

While it seemed like they had a natural sexual chemistry, they’d discovered that fear won out over anything whenever Joe tried to surprise Nicky, or did anything that jogged bad memories.

One upsetting example was the first time Joe topped, Nicky’s headspace had slipped and he’d briefly forgotten who was behind him, panic killing the mood. Having Joe between his legs wasn’t much better, he still couldn’t swallow the unease about being gripped and held down. It just reminded him of being in fights, Keane or, somehow, the accident. The only way they could manage that for a while was if Joe was on his back with Nicky riding him, where he could see and control the situation.

Thankfully, Joe understood and didn’t judge, pressure or get upset. In all honestly, he seemed to prefer Nicky doing all the work. The first time Joe was properly on top was when they were in a desperate, celebratory mood—read: crazy horny. Nicky had gotten a little drunk and pulled Joe on top of him, legs wrapped around his middle as he moved above him, mouth open, eyes closed, and all Nicky could do was watch in awe.

Apart from that, the progression of their relationship was slow and steady. It didn’t take long for him to think Mishmish needed a companion, bringing home an affectionate long-haired calico he’d named Allegra, in honor of his childhood pet. Allegra was a sweet, loving cat but Layla was clearly her favorite, if she entered the room then anyone else might as well have not existed.

The second Aubergenie shop had taken off, proving to be in a busier spot with a more appealing layout. Joe and Sébastien made that their primary and hired others to manage the original, taking Patricia and Lykon with them. They were looking into opening a third branch and making deliveries.

Quynh had quickly moved in with Andy and frequently ‘kidnapped’ her to work-conferences and luxury trips, sending everyone pictures of Andy looking awkward or out-of-place in every setting, like sensing the camera made her anxious.

Nicky found their pairing odd yet charming, a classic introvert claimed by an extrovert, like Nesrine and Elyes. And he got on with Quynh a lot better than he initially expected to. Though Andy and he didn’t talk much, she pulled him into a tight hug one day and mumbled, “Thanks, by the way. Don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

“Can I expect a child to be named after me?” he had teased.

Andy had laughed that idea off, saying, “If the child is a filly, sure.”

And that was how Nicky and Layla ended up getting riding lessons on Andy’s horse, Hippolyta.

Andy and Quynh’s frequent trips left the Andromachine under Nile’s care more often than not. She’d said the upside of that responsibility was that she could play her music as loud as she wanted during work-hours. Nicky accompanied her from time to time, drafting ideas while she tinkered, discussing their respective partners and pseudo-stepchildren.

Nile had managed to make him finish both _Fullmetal Alchemist_ shows and that left him with a visual hangover for months. The second she suggested _Attack on Titan_ he flat-out refused, insisting to only set his eyes on the fun and colorful. Luckily, she had a mile-long list of alternatives for them to get through. Somewhere in the middle they watched Western animation with Layla and the boys, namely _Avatar: The Last Airbender_.

They alternated babysitting for date-nights, went on double-dates when Joe’s parents or Nicky’s family could take over for them, and had merged into a makeshift family.

Then, on Nile’s birthday, Sébastien popped the question by sliding a ring box over to her and she’d remained stunned for a concerning amount of time, making Nicky worry she was going to bolt. But while she remained speechless, she nodded and teared up while making high-pitched happy noises of disbelief.

Nile moved into Sébastien’s house soon after and took advantage of no-longer renting by rescuing a three-legged mackerel tabby called Tripod, affectionally called Trey. She regularly texted him pictures of Trey and Michou curled up together or sleeping on her legs. He responded with ones of Mishmish and Allegra sitting on his work or Layla. Or them sitting on Layla, while she was laid out on top of him.

With their demanding jobs and low-key personalities, the wedding ended up being a small affair, with friends, family and some members of the VA attending. Quynh had strong-armed her way into becoming the maid of honor and Joe was more of a groomzilla than a best man. Michael had walked Nile down the aisle, Patricia had started crying before the ceremony had even started, and Nicky couldn’t blame her.

Due to commitments, their honeymoon was a weekend getaway while Nicky and Joe watched the boys. Then, almost exactly nine months later, Madeleine Josephine Lelièvre was born. After maternity leave ended, Maddie was claimed by Flora’s daycare while her parents worked, further intertwining their lives and families. 

Around their second anniversary, Joe had surprised Nicky with a two-week trip to Italy. Layla stayed with his parents under the reasoning that she would neither appreciate nor enjoy such a trip until she was a bit older.

Nicky felt like it was an excuse for her to layabout and snooze for the start of the summer, and for him and Joe to have some alone-time where they had an indulgent tour of Renaissance art and locations. Good thing was, Nicky could claim the trip as a business expense since it was for ‘inspiration’ and ‘research’ for his job.

Reasonably deciding they couldn’t visit every coast, they settled for Rome and Florence, a second trip could bring them to Genoa and Venice, and another could show him Tunis and Cairo.

After a long day of touring, they retired to their hotel after dinner and Nicky was ready to collapse face first when Joe pressed himself against his back, mouth at his neck.

Nicky leaned back against him, unable to contain his smile. “Again? After this morning?”

Hands roaming down his front, Joe bit at his earlobe. “That was the point of this trip, wasn’t it?”

He arched his back, grinding back against Joe. “I thought it was to show me the land of my grandparents?”

“Can’t blame me for being in the mood after seeing all those statues of naked men,” he mumbled against his jaw. “But before that, I need to ask you something.”

Even after this long together, he still couldn’t help the insecurity and anxiety from rising. “What?”

Joe had moved off him, making Nicky turn with his heart squeezing, then it launched up into his throat when he found him kneeling, one hand held out and the other holding out a silver ring.

“I was ready to ask when you moved in, but I didn’t want to scare you. So, I’m hoping this has been long enough.” Joe said, eyes large and nervous. “Nicolò Genovesi, will you make me even happier than you already have?”

This must have been what Nile felt when Sébastien proposed, an empty-headed shock with feelings slowly filtering in, not tied to any words yet, so all he could do was nod as he attempted to make any affirmative noises as he set his hand in Joe’s.

After setting the ring on his finger, Joe rose up and caught him in a hug, kissing all over his face. Overwhelmed, Nicky had begun to tear up, pulling on Joe, sobbing with disbelief as they kissed messily.

He couldn’t quite remember how they got from Point A to Point B but it was fast, uncoordinated, and full of random stops, slips and laughter until his mind had been consumed by the feeling of Joe over and inside him.

It was quick, intense, almost desperate, how his hands and mouth roamed every part of Joe he could reach as he thrusted into him and talked incessantly, held in place by Nicky’s thighs, legs crossed over his back, gasping and whining into his mouth.

They’d collapsed then and there, Joe on Nicky’s chest, fast asleep as Nicky pet his sweat-damp hair, reveling in the layers of contrast between the dark hair and his pale fingers and the silver of his ring.

The rest of their trip passed in alternating bouts of impatient desire, some of it risky, like out on the hotel balcony in the dead of night, and some based on new, impulsive ideas. Months of lifting had Nicky able to not just lift Joe but hold him up against the wall even when his legs had started shaking from the pleasure. Plus, a solution to Nicky’s discomfort and fear with being on all fours was mostly solved by them bringing the full-length mirror in front of the bed, where Nicky could see Joe, and they could watch themselves.

It had almost felt like a honeymoon. Their families seemed to take it at that way as they started pestering them about the logistics of having children. Jessie’s earlier suggestion still held the strongest appeal.

Their third year couldn’t have gotten any better until Copley showed up at the Aubergenie one day, both his children in hand, and excitedly said that he had been contacted about selling _Stargazer Lily_ ’s media rights to Netflix Animation.

Nicky was certain he had passed out on the spot.

Since he would have been a fool to say no, and this wasn’t just a big deal for his series, but career, family and publisher, he went for it immediately. Layla adorably thought that the TV show would be out within the next month.

As a response to the good news, he and Joe moved up their wedding so they could have a proper honeymoon, visiting Genoa and Venice. A later family trip for Elyes’ sixty-fifth birthday had them all heading to Tunisia then Egypt, properly introducing both Nicky and Layla to the lands and some of the culture.

Nicky had turned thirty at the start of their fourth year together, he’d stopped to realize just how much his life had changed in the last five years. He’d always expected to be dead by now, and here he was.

The feeling of wonderment intensified when more changes arose, with him surveying the animation process for _Stargazer Lily: the Animated Series_ and Sébastien and Joe working on opening their fifth branch—Caterina was managing the third—with a larger selection in their menu, filled with creations and innovations, delivery and occasional catering.

The most shocking had to be Quynh announcing that she wanted to ‘test-drive’ pregnancy before nagging Andy about having children, and more or less told them that she was going to be their surrogate. Nicky felt like she was first getting Andy used to the idea of her expecting, without the commitment of it being their own child.

By Layla’s tenth birthday, the first trailer for the show was out and getting mostly positive reactions, Nicky had finished the third arc of the series and started developing a new series for his publisher, and Quynh was starting to show.

Along with enjoying being fussed over and pampered—with Joe cooking or baking her every craving—Quynh’s plan was working. Nicky had known Andy long enough to know that when she started suggesting Greek baby names from her family and asking Nile what having a baby was like, that meant she was seriously considering saying _yes_ to starting their own family.

By the fifth year, _Stargazer Lily_ had premiered to rave reviews and the sudden amount of people contacting him on social media jumped up his anxiety, only logging in when he had teasers to post or when the publisher nudged him.

Soon after that, Adam Eskandar and Luna Stella Genovesi-Kaisani were here.

It felt like the people happiest about their births were Flora and Nesrine, but in reality, after the shock wore off, it was Nicky. It was one of the things he had felt would be the most impossible to achieve, but they were here, they were growing fast and showing signs of personality that told him that Luna was shaping up to be like Caterina, easygoing and fun-loving, and Adam was like Elyes, energetic and curious.

Which one had Nicky and Jessie’s DNA and which had Joe and Caterina’s? They didn’t know, neither did they care. The only one that seemed to wonder about it was Layla.

One night in, while Joe worked late, he and Layla were in the living room with the twins, Adam sleeping on his blanket by Mishmish, while Allegra sat by Nicky on the couch, watching Luna play with Layla on the floor. He found her pausing, looking between the babies with a worried frown.

“What is it?”

“Adam looks more like Daddy than I do, and Luna has your eyes.”

“That they do.” He waited for her to say something, but she just looked down. “Lily, why’s this bothering you?”

“I don’t know. It’s just, everyone seems so happy about it, them looking like you two.” Layla pulled one her hair. “Taita said she can see both her sons in Adam, and it makes her love him even more. Nonna said that Luna got ‘the Santini eyes’. What did I get?”

“A lot more than you’d think,” he said carefully.

“But I look different than you two, than both families.”

Except she didn't, the older she got the more she looked like Adam, and to a lesser extent, Jessie.

Nicky set aside his book, slipping off the couch to sit by her. “What’s wrong with looking different?”

“It makes me feel like I don’t fit, in pictures, in general.” She looked up at him, worried. “Do you think it reminds Daddy, now that he sees the difference between us all?”

“Reminds him of what?”

She didn’t answer, but Nicky took that as confirmation that she knew, if not at least suspected, that Joe was her uncle.

“You’re our first child, you’re the most important thing to us, what brought us together and made us the family we are today. You can’t imagine how much we love you.” Pulling her into a hug, he kissed her head. “A lot of people don’t look like their siblings or parents. Some twins look nothing alike, but they’re still family, no matter what.”

“You sure it doesn’t change anything?”

“It doesn’t change how we love you, we’d be terrible people if it did.”

She laughed a little, hugging him back. “Just wanted to be sure.”

“If you want someone to relate to, you have your aunt Jessie. You’re a lot more alike than you’re think, personality-wise.”

Layla brightened. “Yeah?”

“I’m noticing it more and more as you get older. Genetics are weird that way.”

She gave him a small, secretive small. “Guess they are.”

Speaking of Jessie, she had used the twins’ birth as a get-out-of-parental-pressure-free card, telling them ‘I technically gave you a grandchild’. She prioritized working for Copley, and spent her time reading through manuscripts and dating a string of guys that had yet to capture her undivided attention.

The developments of the five-year journey culminated at the New Year’s Eve party held on the roof of the original Aubergenie, closed to all except friends and family, where they enjoyed the clear, starry sky, full moon and awaited the fireworks. Nicky had earplugs on hand to block out the sound of the explosions, which never failed to rile him up and ruin his mood, and had already placed little earmuffs on his babies’ ears.

The children were all accounted for this time. At the Mom Table sat Adam and Luna on Nesrine and Flora’s laps, with Madeleine and Pierre on either side of Patricia, while Teresa sat free with her glass of wine. On the other side sat the elder spawn, Robin, Louis and Nicky’s half-siblings Frankie and Bianca, and Copley’s children Isidore and Guinevere, huddled around Layla and watching episodes of ‘her show’ on an iPad.

Nile’s brother Michael was off to the side with Lykon, they had apparently started dating at some point in the last year and kept it under wraps until they showed up arm-in-arm tonight. Patricia had made a joke about her and the Aubergenie being in-laws.

Caterina and Jessie showed up with their respective boyfriends, Vito and Laurent, the former teetering on the edge of getting engaged. Vito D’Ambrosio was their father’s co-worker, given the seal of approval after making eye contact with the barrel of Flora’s shotgun, and brought along tonight in the Genovesi mini-van. Nicky had no idea who Laurent was and Jessie seemed to prefer it that way.

Elyes, Sébastien, Copley and Salvatore were on their own at the Dad Table, discussing numbers, business or investments, or whatever boring aspects of their jobs were, and on the last table were Nicky himself, along with Joe, Quynh, Andy and Nile, passing the time by playing Monopoly.

It was hard not to get distracted as he surveyed the space around him, all the people in it, most of which he had met, in some shape or form, through this shop. He came to when Nile touched his shoulder.

“Wanna get something to drink? I need a break from these three being so competitive over a dumb game.”

“It’s not dumb, you’re just not paying attention,” Quynh said, moving her little iron hat over the spaces on the board.

“Or you’re a sore loser,” Andy backed her up, raising her beer.

Nile blew a wet raspberry at her boss, making her almost spit out the sip of her drink.

“You want anything?” he asked Joe, and he shook his head without looking up from his cards.

Nile and he headed downstairs to the fridge, where the shop was closed and quiet.

Nicky handed her a Coke as he leaned against the counter, surveying the layout, the name on the shop window. “You know what I keep thinking of?”

She sat on the table across from him, playing with the rings on her chain. “That none of this feels quite real?”

“That is a big part of the thought, yeah.” He waved a hand around the room. “The fact that my life changed completely ever since I set foot in this room, is making me debate the existence of magic, or fates.”

“Same, it’s gone in a direction I couldn’t have imagined. I spent so long thinking that things get worse, even before I left and came back. That losing my dad was the end of it for us.”

She smiled down at her rings, both her sapphire engagement ring and gold wedding band, around her neck to keep her from forgetting or losing them as she worked with her hands. “Then my mom got the job here, a job she loved with people who respected her and treated her like family. I started showing up to visit, and met Bas. Then he told me the garage nearby was looking for someone to train and employ, and I started going to the VA just to be social and connect with people, and everything…started sorting itself out.” She raised her can to him. “Then I met you and you know the rest.”

He blew her a kiss. “What doesn’t feel real to you?”

“That I started out not knowing what to do with myself, or if I’d ever find someone, or make real friends, and it all just happened.” She sighed, face soft. “Now I’m basically running the Andromachine with Andy, I’m married, I have a daughter and three nephews I adore, you and I are practically in-laws, and we ended up with this large, bizarre family.”

“Now that you mention it, it really is a little odd. You and I married best friends, my sister and Joe’s became best friends, your brother’s dating Joe’s protegé and your boss’s wife birthed my kids.” He paused, thinking hard. “Technically, all my kids are cousins not siblings.”

“Are you going to tell Layla?”

“I think she knows.”

Nile gaped at him. “What? How?”

“We had this odd little talk a while back, where she hinted that she knew Joe wasn’t her biological father.”

“She’s a smart cookie, very observant,” Nile noted. “Wonder what else she’s noticed.”

“The secrets of the universe are hidden somewhere in those little eyes,” Nicky said with a big smile. “I love her so much. I wish she knew how much. Or how Joe loved her, and that even if she gets the truth, it doesn’t change anything. How do I explain that in a way she’d get?”

“I feel the same way about the boys, though the connection’s a little different, it’s not like what I feel for Maddie. They consider me their aunt, and that’s the truth. Sébastien raised them as his nephews, but since they’re growing alongside Maddie, they call her their sister.” Nile stood, opening her can. “Tell her that Joe raised her as his daughter, and always intended to love her as a daughter, and that it’s all about the relationship, not the genes.”

“What about her and I?”

“Tell her what you told me all those years ago, that you wanted to be part of their family, that you wanted to be her other parent, and that feeling has only gotten stronger as you grew to love her.”

“That’s great advice.” He put his arm around her as they headed back up. “When did you get so wise?”

“Don’t know if that’s wisdom or precision. I just rephrased your own words. And you need precision and reinforcement at her and Robin’s ages, insecurities and self-awareness are probably eating at them.” Nile paused at the top of the stairs by the roof door. “Also, I may have read a lot of child psychology books once Bas and I got engaged.”

“That must be it.”

They returned to the roof to find the Monopoly game had shifted, Lykon and Michael having taken Joe’s vacated spot. Nile rejoined them and before they could ask, Quynh pointed to the far left corner of the roof.

Joe was leaning over the ledge, looking up at the sky, amber light from the street and roof lamps, and blue light from the moon framing him beautifully.

He sidled up to him, bumping shoulders. “You get fed up with the game?”

“Nile was right, they were taking it way too seriously, it kinda stopped being fun.”

“Because you play just to play, they’re playing to win.”

Joe wrapped an arm around his waist, kissing the side of Nicky’s head. “I don’t need to win, I have already won the ultimate prize.”

Nicky dropped his head on his shoulder. “You sap.”

“I’m serious, in this place, in this moment, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Nicky, still in a state of disbelief at where he was and who he was surrounded by, pressed closer, content. “Me too.”

Joe pointed up the street. “That’s where we first met. Where we collided and you spilled your drink on me.”

“I’ve spilled a lot worse on you since then.”

That took him aback, and he laughed almost soundlessly. “Did you ever imagine that that would lead to this?”

“Absolutely not. But Nile and I were just talking about how it seems like this shop is magic, that it changed all our lives.”

“Is it the shop itself, or is it fate?”

“So, we were meant to find each other?”

Joe faced him, nose to nose, eyes filling his view. “We must have, this couldn’t be a coincidence.”

“Whatever you want to call it, fate, destiny, coincidence, I’m glad it happened, because I can’t imagine my life without you and Lily.”

“Neither can I imagine it without you.”

A loud whistle blew in the distance, followed by a boom that made Nicky shiver slightly. The first firework of the night had gone off a little early and it faded fast, leaving glimmers of red and pink.

The sound of movement behind them preceded everyone either joining them along the ledge or turning around to face the sky as more fireworks went off.

Nicky stuck the earplugs in and hoped the earmuffs spared the babies’ ears as he checked behind him, finding Adam fast asleep on his grandmother and Luna dozing off on Flora. Immediately, his eyes searched for Layla and the knot in his chest untangled when she squeezed in between them, joining the countdown chorus.

“FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!” everyone shouted as the largest firework yet burst into view. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Layla tugged on their jackets until they leaned down to each give her a kiss on the cheek, making her giggle.

Rising back up, he found Joe holding his head close. “Happy New Year, Nicky.”

“I sure hope it is, Joe.”

They kissed, dry lips and cold noses courtesy of the weather, but it held all he promise in the world.

The three of them stood there, watching the show usher in a whole new year for them.

The night went off without incident, with lots of group pictures in varying mixtures of people, and as Nicky scrolled through them on his phone on the car ride home. His favorite had to be the one with him, Joe and Layla in the center and bordered by their immediate families and the Lelièvres, their faces shining, each stirring a different kind of love within Nicky.

The sun, the moon, and all the stars that surrounded them.

“Remember when you told me there were unlucky stars?” he asked Joe, pressed against him on one long chair, trading lazy kisses.

Long after the colors faded from the deep-blue sky and they had returned home, children asleep, and them alone on the roof, the sight to see remained the stars, shimmering as they gazed back down at them.

“Yeah?” Joe asked, breathless.

“I think the ones we met under were definitely lucky.”

Nicky could see the starlight reflecting in Joe’s dark eyes as he grinned, smile as bright as a crescent moon. “Then I hope they continue shining down on us.”

“As do I.”

Pressing closer, they kissed until it got too cold for them to stay where they were.

Back in their bed, with Nicky’s back to Joe’s chest, as he sank into the depths of the sweet dreams Joe wished him, Nicky felt well and truly happy.

[ ](https://ibb.co/VBD4WP5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story took on a life of its own, growing longer and more complicated than I planned. It might be because this fic was my only outlet and the only good thing to look forward to during a very hard time. 
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I did writing it! I'm both anxious and excited to hear what you thought!
> 
> Thank you so much to [**luminarai**](https://luminarai.tumblr.com/) for the beautiful art!

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a comment! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> You can follow me here on [**Tumblr**](http://lucyclairedelune.tumblr.com)!


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